Last evening I found that I had the entire house to myself. Somewhat of a rare occurrence. So, after dining on a particularly delicious salad from a local Italian take-out restaurant while watching an episode of Celebrity Rehab, I decided to do something that I rarely ever do ... take a luxuriously long bubble bath.
My home was built in 1929 ... and while the master bath is equipped with both a shower stall and a separate bathtub ... the bathtub is not currently operational due to the condition of very old pipes. And the cost to repair the ancient plumbing attached to the tub has never been what I would consider to be a good use of our time and money. Maybe someday ... but not today. My children's bathroom, however, has a particularly lovely bathtub. So, I gathered up my scented bubbles, warm pjs, bathrobe, book and Ipod and padded down the hallway to enter their domain.
I am not a stranger to the bubble bath. One of the best features of the first house my husband and I purchased was the spacious tiled bathroom outfitted with an extra-large bathtub. I spent many evening hours when my children were younger relaxing in a steaming hot bath, reading a book and enjoying a little "me" time while my husband watched after the kids. I even had a special bath pillow that rested along the edge of the tub which allowed me to rest my head upon it while reading and relaxing.
Since moving to our current home five years ago, baths have been very few and far between. For one, as I mentioned, the bathtub in the master bath is non-operational. For another, my children are not what you might consider to be the "neatest" children on the planet and I try to avoid their bathroom like the plague. I have ventured into their space on a few occasions when a bath just seemed like too good of an idea to pass up. But I usually only consider it on a day the housekeeper has been in residence ... assuring me that their bathroom has been properly cleaned and sanitized. Last night was one of those nights.
As I had not taken a bath in my own home for a little over a year, I was really looking forward to lighting some scented candles, stepping into the hot foamy bubbles, listening to a selection of my favorite music, resting my head against my now dusted-off bath pillow and reading a few chapters of my new book. And that's exactly what I was preparing to do. Until ...
I noticed that the bathtub had shrunk. It had to have. Because as I lowered my size W self down into the hot, steamy, welcoming bubbles, I noticed that once fully seated, the fit was a bit snug. I distinctly remembered there being a lot more room available during my last visit. And strangely enough, it only seemed to have shrunk in width ... not length. Weird. Sure there was still an inch (or was it centimeter? Gasp!) or two of room between each of my hips and the hard plastic sides of the tub ... but quite frankly, I began to feel a little claustrophobic. And much like an elephant trying to hide behind a fire hydrant.
You see, that's the thing about being fat. You can play all kinds of little tricks on yourself in order to avoid facing the fact that you are fat. You can avoid stepping onto scales. You can avoid looking at yourself in a full-length mirror. You can avoid the junior section at department stores and skip looking for underwear at the Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale (they don't sell size W). But then God steps in and plays a little practical joke on you by going and shrinking the walls of your previously roomy bathtub.
Perhaps I have done myself a disservice by choosing to take showers over baths these past several years and opting only to soak in the large whirlpool tubs found in hotel rooms while on vacation and by lounging in the oversize hot tub located on my front patio. Just as I find it to be particularly surprising and eye-opening that last summer's size W shorts are a little snug after being packed away during the long winter months (I like to believe that my clothes shrink during their hibernation period), I also find it to be particularly disconcerting that the walls of the bathtub seem to be caving in on me.
So, dear readers, again I find myself adding just one more reason to my ever-growing list of why I hate being fat. I continue to count calories, am finding creative ways to fit more exercise into my daily routine (which was literally none at all a few months ago, so any movement is a plus at this point) and I continue to take my journey one day at a time. But, as you all know, it is so much easier said than done.
I believe we need to take God's little practical jokes in stride ... whether he chooses to shrink all of your clothes, the seats at your local movie theater, the seat belts on airplanes, or like He did with me, the walls of your bathtub. I believe it is His way of gently opening your eyes to remind you that there are changes that need to be made and He is there to help you if you ask.
Yes. You can avoid the scale, you can avoid full-length mirrors, the junior department and Victoria's Secret ... but you cannot allow yourself to avoid the little things in life that you once enjoyed (i.e., bubble baths). Make the changes ... one day at a time ... one hour at a time ... one minute at a time. Whatever the case may be. I will be trudging right along beside you ... working up a sweat ... so I can go and enjoy a long, hot bubble bath.
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
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