Well, it happened. My stomach FINALLY caught up with my butt. No simple feat. See, I have quite the back porch. I have pictures of me from high school when I was 105 lbs and wore a size four and I look like I am wearing Bootypops underneath my overalls. So of course, my rear end has consistently stayed the largest part of my body, except during about the fifth month of pregnancy when my belly and butt would be about the same size and I looked like I was packing twins, one in the front and one in the back. Being short, and being married to a behemoth of a man my pregnancies always felt to me like what it would be like if a Toy Poodle mated with Great Dane. My belly would continue to grow out like the Octomom's and I'd get the Comments like "Aren't you about to pop yet?" and "Are you sure there is just one?" And now I'm waiting for people to ask me when I'm due and I get to tell them "I'm not pregnant!" Boy is THAT going to be fun!! The bad news is that I have finally reached the point where I think I am fat. The good news it took having FOUR kids for me to feel that way! Society has long banished me to the plus-sized realm when shopping,Â but I've always had some beer-goggles on or something when I look in the mirror because I never thought I looked that bad. I'd see razor thin, incredibly gorgeous women fret about their arm fat or something and wondered if there was something wrong with me because I didn't have crushingly low self-esteem even though I could fit two supermodels under my belly's fat fold.
I had SOME rules. No one has seen my knees in at least a decade, and I'm a fan of control top panty-hose. Or, at least, I WAS. Lately even the Q-pluses have been rolling down and causing my flab to poke out unceremoniously over the tops of my skirts, creating a ring like Saturn's around my middle. I can't fight the fat with Lycra anymore. No vertical stripe or shoulder pad will ever fool the naked eye into thinking I'm anything other than a miniature Roseanne Barr.
I have to say it.Â I miss having a waist. I could deal with the middle-aged lady breasts and the fat knees and the wobbly arms but I need to have at least the SUGGESTION that at one time my waist went in instead of out. So it looks like at some point I might have to make some resolutions after all. Like not eating Lindor Truffles at 10 pm and limiting myself to a small handful of goldfish crackers and waiting until my kids have finished eating so I can just eat their leftovers and not a huge plate of my own food and THEN their leftovers. Maybe doing a few reps with the mop will help too, or maby I should get one of those baby yoga dvds. The kid weighs over 20 lbs, so I am sure that will help.
I'm not sure I would have really noticed my body's downward spiral if it hadn't been for my kids. Bless their honest little hearts...Alice has informed me that my bottom is big, and Jarvis said he loves my "generous tummy." The rite of passage is here. I no longer look like their babysitter. It should be plainly evident to all that YES, I am a multi-para.
At least I am not one of those women whose husband just gets skinnier and skinnier over the years. It is a testament to my good cooking and Hugh's desk job that well, we match. After 9 years of marriage my type has shifted from pale, british homosexuals to chubby, bearded, funny men. Once you go fat, you never go back.
Knowing me, I'll probably never reach the level of self-loathing necessary to truly motivate me to weight-loss, and that's OK. At the end of the day I have found someone to love me, who I love, and we have found the words of Garrison Keillor to be true. Fat allows two people to be very, very close, and not hurt each other.