I went out last night to buy new pants because nothing fits right now. It's a good problem to have when your weight is going the direction you want, and not so when it's going a direction you don't. But sizes are a mess anymore.
I started this summer at a size 18. When those pants got loose I used a belt for a while, and managed to bypass needing anything in a 16. When I got to 14 I was happy because my favorite pair of jeans in my closet is a size 14. It's a pair of Calvin Kleins I got on sale at some point during my weighty journey either up or down several years ago. They would probably get classified as "mom jeans" by someone because they actually come up over my hips to my waist, where, frankly, they should be. That whole mid-rise trend is not fair to those of us whose torsos are just a battlefield of stretchmarks.
Anyway, my weight has been up and down enough times that I've had several occasions to break out those size 14 jeans. Now they are loose again and I had to buy a pair of 12s. The 10s I have still gathering dust in the closet from the last time I was smaller will have to wait until I've lost another ten to fifteen pounds.
But here's the thing: Another ten or fifteen pounds from now I will be the weight I was when I got married in 1997. And back then I was a size 14. I also remember shopping for pants in high school in the 80s. And I was a size 14. There is a forty pound difference between where I am now and where I was in high school. That is insane.
Which makes me wonder why I'm going to all the trouble of swimming a mile every day and being disciplined about what I eat because apparently if I just wait long enough I will be a size 10 again without even trying. Or maybe the pendulum will swing the other way and I will be back to being a size 14. (Either way, nothing short of a sari has ever fit me that my brother has brought me back from India because there sizes are a whole other thing and my 5'10" frame is off all the charts.)