It's rare that I get angry about the fire anymore.
There are still plenty of moments when we can't find something, and we go through the obligatory "Before Fire/After Fire" questioning to determine whether the item is, in fact, actually in our home today. But anger? Not really.
Except for this one pair of jeans.
It was hard for us to get pregnant (and stay pregnant) with Kellen. I gained some weight throughout the process. I had been working hard to lose it to be in better shape when I did finally get pregnant. For the first time in years, I fit into a smaller pair of jeans. I was elated.... and then I got pregnant. Like a week later!
I remember recounting this to my mom.
"It will be a good goal after you have the baby," she said. I'd know I was back to my pre-pregnant size when I could fit back into them.
Great, I thought. No money wasted. I'll be back in them in a few months.
Five years, a house fire, Lyme disease, and another baby later, I am now five pounds from that weight. But I don't have the f*ing pair of jeans.
I know, I know. It's just a pair of jeans. It's not like the stores don't have thousands of pairs in that size. But it's not the point. Those were my goal jeans. They were a milestone. As all women know, not all jeans fit alike, and I want to be able to fit into THAT pair.
It's ridiculous. I shouldn't be angry about a pair of jeans. But as anyone who's lost a house knows, it's that little stuff that seems to linger. It's the unimportant "stuff" that gets in the way.
I think part of the reason I'm annoyed as well is that I have no clothes that fit the smaller version of me. If I continue to lose weight, I will need to buy a whole new wardrobe. I know the cost of a whole wardrobe. I've already been through the irritation of having to replace a closet full of clothes.
Trust me. I am fully aware of the problems in the world. I do my part to help where I can. I get how petty this is. But it just makes me mad. I want that pair of jeans.