Black Tie Optional

My standard uniform :)

A little over a week ago I found out that Jeff's work was hosting a Christmas party for the staff. Alright! I like parties. I like food. I like Jeff. I like Christmas. Then I found out that the party was "black tie optional". Black tie? Black tie?!?!? These two little words weighed heavy on my mind. And although the invitation said "optional" I was fairly confident that didn't mean I was welcome to wear my postpartum stay-at-home mom uniform of sweatpants, sloppy t-shirts and a Moby wrap. I mean lately throwing on a pair of jeans to go to Target feels like dressing up (I say Target because for Walmart I may or may not stay in sweats). It's not that I don't like to wear nice clothes or that I don't enjoy dressing up for a night out. I do. It's just that when you get puked, pooped and snotted on all day long you'd rather not have it be on the one pair of jeans that fit your post baby body. You gotta save those for outings. Anyway I'm in that place where my pre-pregnancy clothes are way too small but I really don't want to buy anything in the size I am right now because I really don't want to be this size right now. I am not one of those girls who has a baby and walks out of the hospital wearing regular clothing so my wardrobe is very limited. So back to the point. I didn't have anything to wear to this "black tie optional" event. Nothing. Literally nothing. I'm not just saying that like women do when they stand in front of a closet full of clothes and say they have nothing to wear. I had nothing to wear to the party. So I went shopping. Fun, right? Wrong. I looked for hours. I tried on dozens of items. I had one unpleasant encounter with the dressing room mirror after another. I was completely discouraged. Truly. It seemed like nothing fit, the numbers on the tags were much bigger than I hoped they would be, and I felt terrible about myself. Really terrible. My eyes burned with tears as I left the store and made my way to the car. The combination of dealing with my post-baby body in the dressing room mirror, lack of sleep, and the pressure of trying to measure up to some ambiguous black tie optional standards got to me. Of course when I came home all out of sorts, Jeff was wonderful and had all kinds of loving, sweet things to say that helped cheer me up. He took me out shopping the next day and I found a dress in no time at all. But I can't help thinking about that first shopping trip and how it totally rocked my world. There are still lessons out there for me to learn about who I am and from where my self-worth should come. I want to be healthy and fit, no doubt. And I'm not gonna lie, it would feel really good to be skinny again. But the truth is, even when I was at my thinnest (a bit too thin in retrospect) I struggled with my body image.  Simply being thin is not the solution. If my journey with weight loss, babies, and my many battles with the scale have taught me anything it's this: I will never be satisfied with my body, my appearance, or myself if my value does not stem from something more than my measurements. I must remind myself that my worth is in Jesus. That I am fearfully and wonderfully made. That God made me in His image. This is not the first time I have felt this lesson being impressed upon my heart, and it probably won't be the last. So I will chip away at these unwanted pounds all the while remembering that I am more than just a number. And guess what...so are you.