Identity crisis

Do you ever look in the mirror and want to shut the lights off?  I am 38 years old and I guess I look “decent” given the fact that I have had 3 children.  I have weighed the same for 25 years (with the exception of my freshmen year at college, but I have no recollection of that…literally.).  I should be content with the fact that I had no problem losing the baby weight all 3 times.  I did nothing to lose it.  It just came off.  What can I say, I have good genes.  Thanks Mom and Dad.   

Despite maintaining my weight and being able to wear the same jeans that I did 10 years ago, I often don’t recognize myself in the mirror.  Maybe it’s the “scream lines,” or the 9 year old boy boobs from nursing 3 children, or the 2 hernias that I cart around now post child birth that double as a party trick depending on the audience (Kills every time!). 

I blame my children 100% for my steady decline into “WTF happened to my body!”  Sure, I could place some blame on the aging process, or the fact that my diet sucks, or that I don’t moisturize or exercise nearly enough.  Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, but I think I would do these things more if I had the energy to do them.  The fact is, my 3 children suck the energy out of my body at a rate that would most definitely qualify them for the Olympics…if “sucking energy” were a sport.    

Here’s my sickening reality, my ass is flattening as I sit here typing this sentence…I can feel it.  Hey kids, do you understand what I have physically sacrificed for you?  Your mom used to be hot.  Okay, that’s a stretch, but she used to have a shape.  Here’s the real question.  Why do I care?  I am in my house all day every day with 3 kids under the age of 8.  They could give a shit less if mommy wears make-up or takes off her sweat pants or wears a bra.  I could let myself go to the point that none of my close friends or family would even recognize me, and my children (and husband) would still tell me that I look pretty…and mean it.  (Cue sentimental music now.)  I really wish this was enough for me.  I’m not proud of the fact that this admission guarantees my induction into the “shallow person hall of fame,” but I accept my fate. 

The fact is, I do care, but have yet to figure out just exactly what I am willing or able to do about it.  Wake up extra early to work out…not gonna happen.  Maybe I could let my kids sit in front of the TV and watch a Caillou marathon in the afternoon while Mommy sweats it out on the elliptical.  For several reasons, absolutely not. (Don’t get me started on Caillou.  He’s creepy.)  I guess I could hit the gym after the kids go to bed.  Good one.  Interrupt wine time?  Please.  Do you understand my dilemma?   

For now, the solution to boosting my self-image is simple.  Drink too much wine, take random selfies and send them to 3 or 4 of my nearest and dearest friends/family who, with the exception of one, will always tell me that I look awesome.  (My poor brother.  He has begged me multiple times to delete his number from my phone. Sorry little buddy. You can’t pick your family.)  I love my friends.  They accept me for who I am and whole heartedly agree with the following statement as a result of my actions.  I will never be able to run for President…of anything.  As my brother recently told me in reference to the previous statement, “Yeah, some things would be hard to explain Jill.”



One response to “Identity crisis

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s