i don't like taking showers. no, it's not because i don't like being clean. it's not because i'm lazy. nor is it because my children inevitably bust through the bathroom door every morning just as my clothes drop to the floor (although i long for the day they stop doing this). it's because i hate seeing myself naked.
i'm sure there was a time in my life when this didn't bother me. like when i was 13 and a size negative zero. although i specifically remember being self conscious about my body even then and thinking that i was "fat". boy, i wish i could go back in time to all the times i thought i was such a cow, slap my scrawny back-in-time self and say, "you think THIS is fat? ha! just wait 'til after you have kids! you ain't seen nothing yet!"
i remember the way my body looked about 4 hours after i had madelyn. i had been lying in a hospital bed for 2 weeks, barely able to breathe or move. i had lost blood, stayed drugged most of the time, and barely ate a bite during my entire hospital stay. but when i first got out of bed and looked at myself in the hospital room's full length mirror, i remember thinking "dang, i look good!" my boobs were huge, by legs were toothpicks, and my post-baby belly was almost non-existent. of course, i was also so sick i probably could have died. but wow. my body didn't look like that even before i got pregnant.
and then came my second child. mom took a picture of me the night before i gave birth to ella, bare-bellied with my shirt raised, and it is absolutely hideous. i mean, i knew i was big, but pictures really put proportions into perspective unlike any mirror ever could. my face was fat, my stomach was gigantic, and my swollen ankles didn't regain their normal size until ella was about 2 months old. i remember asking for a pair of furry-topped knee boots that christmas before ella was born, thinking surely this would be a safe bet. um, no...i couldn't fit them over my puffy feet.
i haven't quite been the same since then. i have a "pooch" that refuses to go away. my arms have become a bit on the flabby side. and i now refuse to wear shorts--even in front of the hubby--because i have knee fat. that's right, knee fat. it exists.
luckily, i have a bossy 7 year old who gladly obliged when i asked if she would be my personal trainer. we have started a 'biggest loser' competition at work, so i decided that now would be the perfect time to start working on my less-than-stellar bod.
after 60 jumping jacks, 30 sit ups, 20 crunches, and some body ball maneuvers, i was spent. but i felt awesome. my new found exercise regimen, combined with a 1300 daily calorie diet was sure to drop the pounds.
i gained 1 pound that first week.
needless to say, i cussed like a sailor for the next several minutes after the scales had returned their cruel verdict. i hated the scales. i hated my coworkers who had lost weight that week. i hated the vegetables i had eaten that week. and i fired my personal trainer.
"why don't you want to exercise anymore?" madelyn asked me that night.
"i just don't. not this week. maybe we'll start back in a few weeks."
"ok. but i don't think you need to exercise anyway. you're not fat."
i smiled. there it was...my honest little madelyn had given me the greatest compliment ever, and she didn't even realize it. and i knew it had to be true because she doesn't lie...at least, not well.
let's face it: i'm not an exerciser. i'm not a dieter. i don't enjoy doing things that don't come easy for me. i've never had to work out or watch what i eat, and i don't really want to start now. according to a recent complete checkup, i'm in pretty good health. do i wish i had the body i had 10 years ago? yes. do i wish i had a better body than i did 10 years ago? definitely. am i going to kill myself to look that way? um, probably not. so although i still refuse to look in the mirror when i get in the shower, my hubby thinks i'm pretty and my daughter thinks i'm "not fat". so there. now, pass the cheesecake.
