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.