Friday, February 14, 2014

Treat Yo Self

Dear Body,
 Wow. We've come a long way together, haven't we? 33 years, almost 34, and we're still rocking it pretty hard. Sure, we've got some aches and pains (since when was getting up of the floor a multi-step process? Remember when we used to jump up off the floor like nothing?) but who doesn't at our age?

 This is a love letter for you. My body. Wow. I know I spend a lot of time hating you. I'm sorry for that. It's hard not to hate the back fat and the tummy rolls. I get so focused on them I lose sight of the little things. Like the tummy rolls are around because we carried TWINS to full-term without being on bed rest. Yeah, you did that. You're a stud.

I believe I thought you were fat when I was around thirteen. Somehow puberty and hormones caught up with me and I went from being a scrawny pre-teen to a teenager with hips and boobs and a belly. What the hell? I'm sorry I told you I hated you during those teen years.

I'm sorry that when we were in high school I used to hide you behind over sized sweaters. You weren't fat. In fact, you were well within the scientific standards of a healthy BMI. But, in my head you were ugly because you weren't as skinny as the popular girls. We swam competitively for all four years of high school and instead of rejoicing in the power of my arms and legs as they sliced through the water I felt awkward because a Speedo hides nothing. You were kick ass in high school, Body, you really were.

And now, here we are. Post wedding, post baby, post quitting smoking. Remember when I did that? I did that because I love you, Body. I'm sorry that I had to eat a whole bunch of crappy food afterwards. Smoking sucks. Quitting smoking sucks even harder. We got through it. Thanks for that.

I love you. Even when I'm mad at you and frustrated at the weight that simply won't go away. I love you, Legs for powering through on a run when our mind is telling us "NO! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW! THIS IS DUMB!". I love you, Lungs, for hanging in there and letting me know "We've got this. Keep on going!". I love you, Arms, for lifting up babies, for hugging them tight, for pounding out bicep curls like a boss.

And I love you, Belly, even with your stretch marks and flabby skin. You are a road map of my life.  I love how my son likes to lift up my shirt and poke at my belly and laugh. He doesn't think we're fat. He just likes the softness and the jiggles. It makes him happy. And what makes him happy makes us happy, right? Even if you're flabby forever, I will still love you.

I love you, Body. Even when I hate you, when I am so mad at you I could cry, I still love you. I love your imperfections. I love your uniqueness. You are special. WE are special. You've got my back (literally). You are an incredible feat, a miracle. You're amazing and astounding and kick-ass.

Happy Valentine's Day, Body. Thanks for going on this journey with me. Looking forward to a bunch more years!

Love,
Meg

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