I’m sure many brides-to-be (and non-brides-to- be, including just about every woman in the United States) would agree with me when I say we think about our weight all the time. A lot. Like, daily. Sometimes twice a day. Or three times.

It’s such a weird phenomenon for me because until mid-college I really never thought about it. Maybe for Friday I’ll do a Molly Through the Ages post complete with pictures (I may regret this later — as I’m pretty sure there are some unfortunate wardrobe choices caught on film) to show you that as a youth, I was long and lanky. While some kids battled with their baby fat during their awkward years, my limbs grew faster than I knew what to do with and I was flat as a pancake.

Eight grade was particularly hard. I remember one conversation where a good friend of mine told me I’d be really pretty, if only I had boobs. I could taste the venom in my mouth, but refrained from saying she’d be really pretty if she wasn’t fat. Girls can be so mean.

The other stand-out incident was a French trip to Quebec where some rumor began that I was anorexic (I WAS NOT) and my entire group of friends refused to talk to me for the first two days. Nice, huh?

My point is, weight was not what used to make me uncomfortable, but the lack of weight.

Don’t worry. That’s not the issue anymore. Look, I know I’m not what you would describe as overweight, but as I get older, I find I myself the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been in my own skin. Weight-wise. And I know it’s because I’m going to be the center of attention at a mega event in four short months.

I have stopped losing weight. Completely plateaued. I’ve reached the number my body apparently wants to be and I know it’s an achievement. It’s 12 pounds lighter than I was a year ago and all my past summer clothes are big now. I’m trying to focus on this milestone and continue to work on my toning — especially on my arms that will be exposed on the big day — but deep in my brain I voice still whispers — it’s not enough.

Recently my mom commented that I’ll never be slim. I know what she meant — she meant that no matter how many hours I spend in the gym, I’m never going to be a petite, small-boned girl that can walk on the treadmill for 25 minutes, not break a sweat and lose 15 pounds. She wasn’t calling me fat. She just meant that my Russian bones will always be my Russian bones and I’m not fat. I’m in shape.

And then there’s the woman at the dress shop. When I called to book my appointment for a fitting she scolded me that it was probably too early. “Most brides come in six weeks before the wedding,” she said. I explained to her that since I reside in Rhode Island and the dress shop is alllll the way in New York, it would be best to schedule fittings when I knew I’d be able to come into town.

Plus, you get more than one fitting anyway. I’ll be in again closer to the wedding.

“Well, fine,” she agreed. “But when you lose weight the seamstress will have to start all over again.”

When I lose weight. Not if. When.

So maybe she was just speaking from experience. Because it’s true, most brides ARE trying to lose weight. I certainly was. But the assumption, the almost demand that you will — you must — lose weight made me want to crawl through he phone and strangleย her with her measuring tape.

Is this ever something that goes away, or am I doomed to repeat this the rest of my life? Will women ever stop measuring their self worth by the size of their jeans?

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