Long before I started dieting, I monitored my weight by my clothing; more specifically how my clothing fit (or didn’t).

About a month ago, I had to throw away several pairs of jeans because they all had the same problem — the cloth in the inner thigh area had worn through so much that holes had started to form. For some of the jeans, it was just a small hole barely visible. On others, it was a gaping hole.

As a result, I inspected every pair of jeans I owned and several other pants as well. Almost all of them showed signs of wear in the inner thigh area from the continual rubbing of my thighs as I move throughout my day. Everything else about the jeans were in like-new condition, but the thigh areas were worn thin. I was forced to throw away almost every pair of jeans I owned.

The only pants that didn’t show wear in the thigh area were my fat pants — a pair of Tommy Hilfiger jeans that I had purchased at a deep discount. Even when I purchased the pants, they were a little big on me, but I couldn’t pass up the deal. Plus, they weren’t that big. They were my size but the “tall” version, which meant the longer than normal legs fit me differently than most of my jeans. At 5′7″, I’m at the lower end of the “tall” range.

The first time I wore the jeans, my husband commented on them. He didn’t like them because they made my butt look larger than it really is. The loose fit and poor butt display made these jeans become my work jeans. When I had to do something that required a lot of lower body movement, I would wear these jeans. They worked well while snowmobiling, any major cleaning and home improvement projects.

So many times I went to my dresser drawer and pulled out pants that no longer fit me, but these jeans always went on. They were my fall-back pair when nothing else was available. If I had a lazy day of hanging out at home, I pulled on these jeans. The loose fit may not have showcased my butt very well, but they were comfortable to wear. I never had to tug them up to cover my butt crack or worry about straining the seams if I bent down to pick something up off the floor.

Every time I wore the jeans, my husband mentioned how poorly they displayed my rear end. He didn’t like them at all, but I continued to wear them.

They were the jeans I grabbed when nothing else wanted to fit. These were the jeans I could pull on no matter how I felt or how bloated and fat I was that day.

Yesterday, I threw away my fat jeans.

It was a big move for me, and I wasn’t sure at first that I should do it. After throwing away so many pants last month, my clothing options are limited as it is. It is not an easy decision to toss a pair of jeans that are in good condition.

I wore the jeans yesterday. It was a hanging around the house day, and I pulled the jeans on because it didn’t matter what I looked like. The jeans, however, are now too big.

My hips have always been bigger than my waist by several inches. It means most of my pants are tight in the hip area and have a small gap at my waist. But yesterday, my fat pants were just too big. The waist band’s gap was huge. I could pull on the outer thigh area and pull the pants off despite them being fastened. It involved a little bit of a single hip wiggle to the right when the pants began to go over my larger hips, but it could be done without a lot of effort.

According to the scale, my weight loss effort is only 25 percent complete, but throwing away my fat pants is a major deal. So much so that I decided to take a photo to document my achievement to date:

According to the tag on the jeans, they are a size 20 and “classic fit.” I don’t see anything to indicate they were “tall” although there is a “inseam-r” on the label, but I have no idea what that means.
Yesterday, while wearing my fat pants, I went to a local store and tried on various pants. For the last six months, I have been wearing a size 20 jeans, but that is misleading. I had refused to buy jeans larger than a size 20, but at times, I couldn’t make a size 20 fit and size 22, after being used to my tight-fitting size 20, felt huge the few times I tried them on. I usually opted for the smaller, tighter size, but it was something I had to decide on a case by case basis.

Yesterday, in the dressing room, getting a full-length view of me in my fat pants is when I really decided it was time to get rid of them. I never want to fit into them again, and it is clear they no longer fit. It was time to let them go.

My results in the dressing room were mixed. I could fit into some size 18 jeans but not all. The cut and brand played a major part in the deciding factor. If the fit was relaxed or classic, size 18 fits. Anything else is iffy.

One thing I learned in the dressing room yesterday — pay close attention to the labels. I mistakenly picked up a pair of size 18 “misses” jeans, and I didn’t realize it until I went to try them on. I am not a “misses” by any means. I also need to avoid “juniors” labels. It just isn’t good for the ego.

Last night my husband asked me a couple of times where I had been yesterday afternoon. I told him I was shopping, but I didn’t try to explain why my shopping trip took so long despite bringing home just a few items. It’s hard to explain that I was size-shopping, which is sort of like window-shopping. There is no intent to actually buy anything, but you have to know where you stand in the changing world of women’s sizes.

Someone was making a photo quilt for my husband’s grandmother, and I was supposed to supply a family photo that included my husband, me and our four kids. I lined us all up on our couch, set the timer on my camera and snapped the photo. Then I checked the photo out, and I decided the photo would not work. My hair needed cut, and my butt looked too big. It seemed to spread out along the couch. It was the widest part of my body. I didn’t provide the photo to the quilt-maker.

As I looked at the me in that picture, I realized something I didn’t want to know — I was fat. That was around October 2004.

It turns out that it is all a matter of perspective since, about two years later, in July 2006, I was in another family photo, and after the image was snapped, I realized I was even fatter.

And, looking back at that attempt at the photo for the quilt, I realized I wasn’t really that fat in that photo. I was a little overweight, but I wasn’t obese. Now, I’m obese, and trying to keep from becoming morbidly obese.

This is one of my problems. I don’t have a good sense of my own body size. I think of myself as skinnier than I really am. And then I’m confronted with photographic proof, and I have a hard time adjusting my thoughts to take in the reality.

When I was really the size of the quilt-photo, I thought I was big because I was thinking of myself as smaller than that. But now I have the new photo and I’m bigger, and I would love to be back to the size I was in the quilt photo. So now, in comparison to my new reality, I feel like the quilt photo was skinny. Of course, that is part of my warped sense of body size working there. Is it ever possible to have a truthful and healthy sense of your body size?

I find myself comparing my body size to other women I know. Am I bigger than her? Smaller? Is that what I look like? I’m never quite sure. I don’t know.

So, let’s take a look at where I am — in pictures. I’ll add more as I find them and think about them.

To start, I want to talk about the photo I have as a header for this blog of my dad and I. I was 16, and the photo is circa 1986. I had a horrible perm, but my body size was healthy, and it looks especially so juxtaposed next to my dad’s unhealthy body size. My mom took this photo, and we were in Arizona. My dad probably didn’t like the photo, and he definitely would have hated me posting it on the Internet. For one thing, he is showing his belly, something he didn’t do in public. You can also see the nitroglycerin patch on his chest. My sister thinks if I post this photo of Dad, I should post photos of me that I hate too, and I will try to do that.

The next photo is when I was in high school. I was a cheerleader and the drum major in band. (Go Vikings!) I was also a bit of a nerd, but I didn’t really look like a nerd. This photo was taken in 1989, and I was a senior.

Here’s a family photo taken in May 2004 at my niece’s wedding. Other than when I was pregnant, I didn’t really think I had a weight problem until 2004, which is when I started gaining weight. But right now, I’d be happy to be back at this weight. Although I also realize camera angle plays a part too.

For instance, in the next photo, taken January 2005 with my mom, I look pretty skinny, if I do say so myself.

Notice, however, that I am standing sideways. In another photo, taken the same day, I don’t look as skinny when I am facing the camera directly and my hips are included in the picture.

I’ll post more photos from different times in the future.

 Updated Jan. 10, 2008: 

This photo documents the last time I wore my “fat pants.” At this point, I have lost 25 percent of my goal: