Little Mint Dress

By next week, my first son will be married.

Of course I am happy and excited, but I wouldn't be a mother if I didn't have mixed feelings. Twice, I have felt overwhelming feelings of sadness at the thought of not having him around anymore so I can kick his shoes out of the way as I walk down the hall past his doorway. I've lived more years with this son than I have with any other human being in my life. And I love him.

Of course I hope that he and his bride will be able to negotiate their marriage with less conflict than I could as a young person. Of course I hope they'll always have health insurance and food on the table, that their mortgage won't overwhelm them, that they'll keep sparkling and laughing as they go along and nothing will ever diminish that.

My main responsibility in this wedding is to pull off the luncheon beautifully. The bride's family has graciously not required me to wear beige nor keep my mouth shut, as the anecdote goes. So, of course, the luncheon and all its details have been much on my mind.

But, honestly, the thing that has taken up the most concern is the same thing that would occupy any normal female--will I fit into my dress?!

Months ago, I found the perfect dressy mint suit--mint being one of the operative colors in this gorgeous wedding, and the bride's mother having rightfully chosen coral for herself. I was perfectly happy with mint. I got the suit approved by the bride, which wasn't a bit hard, and the only problem with it was what size to get.

I know it's stupid to buy a dress for a wedding that doesn't fit you, no matter how far off in the future the wedding is. But, of course, my situation--as fate always seems to have it--was the exception.

When it was the optimum time to find a mint dress in the stores--early spring, I had recently been released from my doctors to do more exercise than merely walking. NOT doing more than walking--and over the holidays, no less--had put fifteen pounds on me. I was making good progress, and I still had, I reasoned, three-and-a-half months left.

So, I didn't want to buy a size fourteen or a sixteen, which would surely drown me by the time of the wedding. The sales clerk talked me into buying two sizes and bringing one back within the month, depending on the progress I was able to make.

After trying on both, I purchased a size twelve and a size ten and kept on working out and hoping for the best. I used to wear a size eight, so it wasn't THAT unreasonable.

After one month, I tried them on again. The twelve fit in the waist, but was getting too big for me in the wide neckline. (See, Dr. Neurologist? That dress has a wide neck, not me.) Not wanting to be spilling all of that out on my son's wedding day, I took back the twelve and kept the ten and continued to work out and hope for the best.

A few weeks ago, I added ten minutes of extra ab work a day to the opposite end of the day of my normal workouts. (A weight trainer suggested this to me fifteen years ago--funny that I never heeded his advice until now.)

One week ago, I realized that much of what I do in my ten minutes of just-abs is fluff. I downloaded some "Flatten Your Stomach" exercises and beefed it up. One web site I saw said something to the effect of, "Honestly, the best exercise you can do to rid yourself of unwanted belly fat is to do cardio." I hit the "pfflbt!" button with my lips and moved on. I have faithfully done several hundred calories worth of cardio daily for six months and still have unwanted belly fat. (As opposed to wanted belly fat. Which would be different.)

I now weigh less than I did last fall when I had to stop working out, but the mint suit is still tight around the middle. I haven't seen my waist since the moment I conceived the son getting married. I am convinced that I could get all the way down to Jillian Michaels arms and legs and lose my bustline altogether (no mean feat), and my waistline would still not budge.

I've switched down to "fat burner" workouts which take me 84 minutes instead of one hour to burn 900 calories. I'm now doing 20 extra minutes of ab work a night. I've trimmed down what I eat even further and added blueberries to my diet (I heard they dissolve belly fat). I've started doing leg lifts in the restroom at work. I'm trying on the mint suit several times a week. Do I seem desperate? Well, it's only because wearing that suit to that wedding is the ONLY OPTION I HAVE!

Yesterday at work, I got a couple of compliments on the dress I was wearing. "It's a ten," I told one friend. "And I wore a ten yesterday. And the day before. I can wear every ten I own now except the one I need to wear."

"Hmmm. It must be the way it's cut," she said.

"I think it's the way I'm cut," I said, miserably.

I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that I rented out my mid-section to seven different human beings for nine-month stays. And played the part of the perfect hostess all the while, making sure each of them had every possible thing they could need packed in there with them.

Not that I can blame my babies, the youngest of whom is over three years old.

Maybe I can blame my parents, instead.