Reality bites....I try not to bite back

Day 2, the reality of the situation hit...the second half of my job interview with A.J.A. is tomorrow-I have to teach a second grade music class. I have been teaching middle school and high school for the last 3 years, I have not set foot into an elementary school music program, EVER. I have been pinned a band director, not a music teacher--some may see it as a blessing, while others see it as the kiss of death, in my case, little from column A, little from column B. I did pretty well during the oral part of the interview, principal was super cool, I knew my stuff, and then, she said those ill fated words: "I think you would be amazing with our middle school band kids, but, I worry about the transition over to the younger kids, would you be able to handle it?" I forced back a smile and squeaked out: "Of COURSE, I love little ones, I think it would be thrilling to teach elementary music as well!" She was so excited and then said that she would like me to teach a lesson to a group of 2nd grade kids...I accepted, then frantically called the wonderful elementary music teacher at one of my schools. Thankfully, she handed me music, songs, and activities to do for my lesson, now, I just have to figure out how to be cute, peppy, and excited about cats, squirrels, and singing. I'm terrified....I barely passed singing in college, I'm terrible, hence why I focused on playing musical instruments. I don't think a room full of 7 year old kids will be too judgmental, then again, I've underestimated children in the past. 

The next task, of course, is finding something appropriate to wear tomorrow. I want it to say "I'm a totally adorable music teacher and a hardcore band director." I wore my killer interview outfit the first go round, so, now I have to dig for something else. The problem, most of my amazing professional attire is from when I was about 20-30 pounds lighter...let me describe my walk in closet: close to 200 pairs of shoes (they have never done me wrong no matter how fat I get), 30-40 pairs of slacks and jeans, 15-20 dresses, 10-15 skirts, and more blouses, tanks, sweaters, and shirts than I can count. When I count how many of those things actually fit me without looking or feeling terribly uncomfortable--let's just say, Bart Simpson has a more extensive wardrobe. Tonight, as I began digging through the mass piles of clothes, the sad reality of how much my weight has gotten out of control hit-and it hit hard. I lost count of how many tops I tried on, all were awful, too short, too tight, not long enough, can't cover all the bulges, showed off too much of my lower stomach blubber. When it came to slacks, only 4 reached wide enough to button, and only 2 that didn't make me look like a whale eaten by an even bigger whale.

The last few months I've managed to get by wearing jeans to work...because I'm only on each campus for a short period of time, the principals haven't given me any slack for it. After I lost the baby and had a giant tumor growing in it's place, I wasn't able to do much and because of the swelling from both the 8 week pregnancy (before it ended) and the 10 pound tumor, my "fat girl" jeans were all that fit. After I had surgery to remove the tumor, I again had swelling, but now, had to be careful about what rubbed against the stitches and now, scars. I hate wearing jeans to work, makes me feel sloppy and unkempt--I want to break out the skirts, dresses, and cute slacks I had bought before I started the school year, when it had all fit and looked great, before I gained 20 pounds. I refuse to buy any new clothes while I'm going through this weight loss/gain battle. Buying bigger only means I may eventually grow into it, while buying smaller for motivation, only leaves me more depressed. So, I'm stuck with what I have and I need to make it work. I narrowed the choice down to one that I hope screams professional, loves kids, doesn't eat bags of Oreos in one sitting, loves to sing and dance about cats and squirrels, doesn't mind getting on the floor, playing the piano, putting valve oil in trumpets, banging a drum, figuring out how in the hell to actually play a trombone, and doing it all with a smile. 

I had to break down though, as we all do...I just cried. I cried over my inability to control my appetite, for my laziness and excuses for not working out and eating better. Cried over the fact I can't run and play with my boys when they're riding their bikes because I get winded, that my knees hurt from standing all day at work, that I'm scared to sit down on little plastic band chairs or school tables for fear of them breaking. Cried for the comments I've heard strangers, students, and loved ones say about my weight...and in the end, cried over a fabulous wardrobe I have invested thousands of dollars in, that I can't wear. I guess when I have a weak moment and want to grab a brownie, I'll remember that dark place in my walk in closet where a pile of clothes laid and I stood in tears. I'll remember that the reason I'm losing the weight is for my health, to stick around for my boys, to stick around for my future grandchildren, help spread the love of music to future generations (who think Metalica was a band from the 60s and have no clue who the Lone Ranger was), to piss off my ex husband, to wear my damn clothes hanging in my closet, and to prove to the world that you CAN lose weight without being sent off to a ranch for 12 weeks while millions of television viewers witness your pain.  

Now, off to practice my 2nd grade singing voice, drink more water, pee another 6 times before I go to bed, and spend a minute or two with my sweet husband before I pass out in a benedryl induced coma. 

Till tomorrow,

Andria