Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Mind, Body & Soul: Part 2: Issued First (Just to throw you off)

It doesn’t matter how much I try to deny it, or make it go away. Common sense and the natural cravings that are only human cannot dispense with the yearning. Make believe and women’s lib and my Grandma’s womb-like love do not shed light on the mysteries of its draw.

And I’m not alone. (And my Grandma smells like fried chicken)

I am a cow. Moo-freakin-ooooooo. Aside from the fact that I have actually produced “milk” before, and I have a couple long, saggy, once-life-giving udders, I am a cow in other ways.

I think because I was a chubby kid, and “healthy” pre-teen, the fact that I naturally grew out of the extra weight means very little. The mirror still says the same thing, and it’s not berating me for being too stupid, or less successful than I should be. While my abbreviated education and lack-luster career are constant fodder for new (or renewed) goals, it is my body that receives the brunt of whatever self-inflicted condemnation I issue forth. I want to be happy with the imperfections, and yet every time I see my reflection – whenever I see myself - it is not my lack of political awareness, or inadequacy when playing Trivial Pursuit or watching Cash Cab that I regret most.

Though I do regret those things immensely.

I mean, I freakin love Cash Cab. I intend to go to NYC in April with no other object than to roam the streets looking for it. I imagine myself flagging down crossover-looking cabs, and saying “Oops, sorry – I forgot my wallet” or acting as though I was flagging it for the less ambitious sap behind me. Not the point - you can never have enough pointless trivia on the tip of your tongue in a city that overwhlems every other sense.

At some point in high school, basically from my junior year on – I was 125 lbs. At 5’9” that was enough to make a few people ask if I had an eating disorder, which was entirely the opposite of the truth. I had gained control. After a teen pregnancy during which I’d gained almost 60 lbs, my weight was a perfection of healthy eating, diligent exercise, and mind over matter. And up until my last was born just under three years ago – I maintained that standard - or close to it, even going vegetarian for a couple years to ensure the goodness I was putting into my body (as long as you consider alcohol “good”).

So after 14 years, and the birth of my third child (22 lbs gained) – I was "acceptable" - but no better in my own eyes, at least when my eyes were directed towards a scale. But for the last year or so, having somewhat conquered a slight bout of depression – and celebrating with a year long (or slightly more) 2-glass-of-wine-a-night binge, I seem to be packing on the pounds, one nasty, jiggly ounce at a time. I know in my less-than-shallow mind that its not all that serious yet. But, childhood promises that I would be JUST like Jane Fonda (without Ted and money) riddle my thoughts and dreams – torturing me with visions of a large ass you can place your dinner plate on and thighs that could serve as a compactor at the local junkyard. I haven’t had time for the gym in two months, unless giving up minimal parenting is an option – and eating has become less of a discipline and more of a whatever’s-there kind of thing.

So, I will never look at myself and see what other’s see. But then again, I am not other people. And for the most part, I don’t give a starving rats ass what people think about my cellulite. I don’t (really) want to be Heidi Klum, and I don’t need to be the devil in Prada. I don’t even need to have my own DVD of pole-dancing, love-handle-taming fabulousness (but it could happen).

I just need to please me (and maybe Raquel Welch), and there’s no better time to begin………..than tomorrow (says Scarlet anyway).


Char said...

LOL love the title. And I happen to think America's obsession with thinness is unhealthy and it's better to be a healthy weight. I don't think that women (or men) who look as if they've survived a famine in Africa are attractive. I'm convinced it was a plot started in the 60's when gay designers were being mistreated by public opinion so they decided to dress men as pre-pubescent boys.

curves are where it's at baby.

Periodically Consistent said...

I agree, and at my happiest (with my body) I was more obsessed with fitness and muscle tone/strength that weight or pants size. BUT - you cannot change your body type - even if you change its make-up, and when I exercise often, I get the "skinny" look - which is why people assume I dont eat.

Pishaw. It's all about smiling when you look at yourself.