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Expect The Unexpected
Some of the most productive and therapeutic relationships are forged simply through the use of words and images. It makes one apprehensive about the impact of a physical manifestation of any sort for fear of compromising the rigid bond that has formed over a period of years. In the end, we are taught that letting things happen naturally and in their own time is often the wisest choice, as forcing time and space may only lead to heartache or dashed expectations. Here's to serendipity; separated but not disunited.
Boobies and the Bulge
Vanity is inevitable - especially for a woman who has had children. Oh sure, you can play the whole feministic "I am a goddess" card for a while, but eventually, you will curse whatever sags, protrudes or jiggles. In the end a struggle will ensue, but even that will wane to a compromise. The ultimate question: What's most important to me?
I cannot generalize here, because women are obviously not all built the same. Additionally, there are also those who have the guts and the funds to nip, tuck, enhance and reduce. I'm not gonna lie, I do occasionally have a speck of envy for the surgically altered. I'm not assuming that engaging in such practices would really put down the demonic vain monster that lays in wait, but hey, that's why it's called dreaming.
So, the matter at hand - the packing on of pounds. Double digits? Yes. So many that I'm doomed? No. More often than not, I can catch myself before I spin completely out of control, which is the present case. What's disheartening is how I spent a lengthy amount of time dropping a decent amount of weight, swearing I'd never go back, then watching as the numbers crept back upward...such is the life of a yo-yo dieter.
The cherry on my chunky cake is that I recently turned 40, and while being monumentally thin (for my personal existence, anyway) was pretty damn cool for a minute, I quickly began mourning the loss of my rack and ass. There was simply not enough left of the very things that attracted my husband's attention so many years ago (personal insecurity, he really had no qualms), but my clothes fit. so. well.
Dilemma.
Did I put the weight back on purpose? Of course not. However, now that it's there, I've decided that the curves are good. The bad thing is that spread around the middle...it was absent one day, there the next...I swear. Okay, I don't swear, and it was longer than a day. What to do?
Ignore it. Cover it up. Wear extra layers. Enjoy the cleavage.
Guess what? None of that works.
As in many times past, I've landed right back at square frickin' one. I hate this place - the spot where I have to start disciplining myself...again. Water instead of diet soda, less coffee, more exercise, meager portions, minimal sugar and starch, blah, blah, blah...the plight of the vain housewife is not for the faint of heart. Today, I choose health and comfort in my clothing. Tomorrow? We'll see.
I cannot generalize here, because women are obviously not all built the same. Additionally, there are also those who have the guts and the funds to nip, tuck, enhance and reduce. I'm not gonna lie, I do occasionally have a speck of envy for the surgically altered. I'm not assuming that engaging in such practices would really put down the demonic vain monster that lays in wait, but hey, that's why it's called dreaming.
So, the matter at hand - the packing on of pounds. Double digits? Yes. So many that I'm doomed? No. More often than not, I can catch myself before I spin completely out of control, which is the present case. What's disheartening is how I spent a lengthy amount of time dropping a decent amount of weight, swearing I'd never go back, then watching as the numbers crept back upward...such is the life of a yo-yo dieter.
The cherry on my chunky cake is that I recently turned 40, and while being monumentally thin (for my personal existence, anyway) was pretty damn cool for a minute, I quickly began mourning the loss of my rack and ass. There was simply not enough left of the very things that attracted my husband's attention so many years ago (personal insecurity, he really had no qualms), but my clothes fit. so. well.
Dilemma.
Did I put the weight back on purpose? Of course not. However, now that it's there, I've decided that the curves are good. The bad thing is that spread around the middle...it was absent one day, there the next...I swear. Okay, I don't swear, and it was longer than a day. What to do?
Ignore it. Cover it up. Wear extra layers. Enjoy the cleavage.
Guess what? None of that works.
As in many times past, I've landed right back at square frickin' one. I hate this place - the spot where I have to start disciplining myself...again. Water instead of diet soda, less coffee, more exercise, meager portions, minimal sugar and starch, blah, blah, blah...the plight of the vain housewife is not for the faint of heart. Today, I choose health and comfort in my clothing. Tomorrow? We'll see.
Pandora's Box
"Quiet People Have The Loudest Minds" ~Stephen Hawking
It's Saturday morning and the house is quiet. Part of the family has gone adventuring and the remaining are still savoring their weekend slumber. As usual, I am up, having packed food for the men and sending them off into the frigid darkness before pouring myself a cup of coffee and allowing the night's fog to part within my thoughts.
My. Thoughts.
It has been openly discussed that we are not safe when we are alone with our minds for too long, and yet I've found myself secluded in the early hours with a tornado brewing inside my head.
What will the coming days bring with the household growing by two members, the surgery drawing closer, the business that needs to be conducted within all of the upheaval, the clash of personalities and invasion of space...the cluttered existence? Inevitably, the tar of wonder bubbles down into a sticky pool of heft leaving the core concern:
What about me?
We are all human, after all ~ selfishness exists in some capacity, somewhere in the reaches of our being. You can give until it hurts, and you can even get along the way, but they are not always balanced.
I will face it as I always have, I suppose...with an open heart and strong back...a little worse for the wear after a number of years, but still tough. Despite small breakdowns like this one, I know that my purpose is solid and my presence needed ~ now to pluck the unstable pieces of my cognition from the storm, force them back into the box and lock it down until next time.
It's Saturday morning and the house is quiet. Part of the family has gone adventuring and the remaining are still savoring their weekend slumber. As usual, I am up, having packed food for the men and sending them off into the frigid darkness before pouring myself a cup of coffee and allowing the night's fog to part within my thoughts.
My. Thoughts.
It has been openly discussed that we are not safe when we are alone with our minds for too long, and yet I've found myself secluded in the early hours with a tornado brewing inside my head.
What will the coming days bring with the household growing by two members, the surgery drawing closer, the business that needs to be conducted within all of the upheaval, the clash of personalities and invasion of space...the cluttered existence? Inevitably, the tar of wonder bubbles down into a sticky pool of heft leaving the core concern:
What about me?
We are all human, after all ~ selfishness exists in some capacity, somewhere in the reaches of our being. You can give until it hurts, and you can even get along the way, but they are not always balanced.
I will face it as I always have, I suppose...with an open heart and strong back...a little worse for the wear after a number of years, but still tough. Despite small breakdowns like this one, I know that my purpose is solid and my presence needed ~ now to pluck the unstable pieces of my cognition from the storm, force them back into the box and lock it down until next time.
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