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.”