Please excuse my cockiness, but I used to have great legs. Like really great legs. People would compliment them all the time. No matter where i went, I heard the kind words. I guess it was lovely, thought at the time I found it sort of disturbing. Kind of gross. I didn't like to feel objectified. Regardless, I'd wear short shorts and short skirts. And high heels.
All legs look best in the summertime, kissed with some sunshine. If i took a mid-winter vacation, I'd be sure to bake my extremities. I'd used copious amounts of sunscreen, but not on my legs.
Today I hate my legs. With the excess baby weight, they're not as skinny as they used to be. Two babies and all the baggage that came with those dolls has also left it's toll in the form of spider veins. They're gross. Not as gross as the fat, but they're not a pretty look. Sometimes I use my expensive Smashbox BB cream to cover the lines. That works and it beats surgery.
I also can't stand my knees. For many years, my knees were adorable. Skinny. Almost knocked kneed. But now there's a little mound of side fat that makes my knees look like they're on backwards. I'm not a fan. I don't love to show my knees. In fact, i rarely do.
As if the weight gain wasn't egregious enough, my psoriasis also decided that it should spread itself out. What used to be just a small patch on my elbows is now a rather large and bright pink marking all over the side of my calves. Again, not a good look. Make up does cover it, but it's not healthy. Sometimes it even hurts. And more than just my ego feels the pain.
Don't be mistaken, I also loathe my arms. Psoriasis has left it's ugly mark all over them too. When my skin isn't shedding, it's an uncomfortable shade of itchy red. I have two horrible scars where the biopsies were pulled two years ago. One of these said scars makes me so sick that most days i cover it with a kiddie bandaid. It's my own perpetual ouchie. Sometimes I wonder what's more obvious? The bandaid or the scar? I'm sure the bandaid is worse, but i cover that mark regardless.
My arms were never great, but they were always just fine. They were long and thin and strong. I had great muscles and some decent definition. Now i have bat wings. Lunch lady arms. Hadassa arms (for my jewish friends following along). They're not the worst i've seen, believe you me, but they're not lovely. For this reason, i try to refrain from wearing short sleeves. I suffer unmercifully in the summer heat and humidity. Buying clothes for the season is also not an easy job. Dresses with capped sleeves make me shake. Jean jackets, wraps, boleros and pashminas are all my best friends. I can't buy anything that wouldn't allow me to conceal my meaty shoulders. Not a good look. I promise you that.
I'm also starting to dislike my ears. I've had issues with them since I was a kid in grade school. At that time i was sure that they made me look like Dumbo. As a matter of fact, even my dear daddy made fun of them. He would say that we didn't need an umbrella if we used my ears for protection. Never would i wear my hair in a ponytail. Ever.
As the years moved on, and i became more comfortable in my skin, i began to accept my ears. They weren't such an issue. But today as i look in my reflection, my ears look big. My face looks tired. When did 40 get so close?
And finally, I could do without my stomach. Today as i caught a Kim Kardashian view of myself in the public library's window reflection, i noticed the perpetual pooch in my belly. I was wearing what i thought to be a lovely dress, complete with long sleeves and my leg make up. I even had on a pair of skin sucking spanx. The lacey material of the dress, the slip beneath, nothing could cover the mass. I tried to suck it in and carry on.
But then as i sat in my favourite seat, in my favourite cafe, sipping my favourite iced Americano, I watched as a regular customer placed his order. He had lovely ears for his face, but they didn't seem to work. He was mouthing words and motioning to the food in the glass window. Luckily the barista was lovely and together they understood his order. One strawberry smoothie and a chocolate croissant. While i saw him stumble to get out his choices, I touched my ears and smiled. Yes, they may not be dainty, but all the better to hear your voice darlings.
While standing outside, watching my daughter talk to a friend, an elderly couple came to the cafe for their regular breakfast date. Each was in their late 80's. Newlyweds. Actually only married for the last 4 years. I adore them. The gentleman walked slowly to the counter with his cane in his right hand. His legs weren't what they used to be. The pretty lady sad down and left her silver walker beside her. Each morning he comes over to push it closer to her when she's ready to get up. I imagine she was much stronger when she was my age. Forty years ago.
As i looked at their accoutrements and i thought about my legs. No, they weren't as sexy as they were when i was 20, but then again, I'm 20 years passed that. My legs have run races and biked for miles. I've walked through cities in countless countries. On these two strong legs. I'm sure i'll be happier when they're a bit more slim, but for now they're just perfect for walking home with my girl or running after my boy in the park.
Leaving the coffee shop, my daughter and i walked past the library again. This time i saw our reflection staring at me. I saw her, in her little dress, and me, in my not so little dress. I didn't notice my big belly. All i could see was my teeny mini me walking beside me. Tomorrow she'll be off to her first summer at sleep away camp. It felt like just yesterday that I was carrying her around on the inside.
Instead of sucking in my gut just then, i breathed a sigh of relief. Relief that my body had allowed me to successfully grow such amazing creatures. Two beings who look up to me and count on me everyday. Those two kids adore my stomach and I adore them. This doesn't mean i'll give up the quest to get fit, it just means i'll be more gentle. More grateful. More aware.
From the library, we continued walking towards our house. On my left, I noticed a young attractive blonde woman with great legs. She was wearing a turquoise and pink paisley print dress. Looked like it could have been a Pucci. The sleeves were capped. In a heartbeat, I had to nearly look away. As I was staring at her sleeves, I realized she only had one arm. Boy how I was hoping my kid wouldn't stare. Certainly that arm was lovely, but it was the only one she had. With it she clung to 3 very large and seemingly heavy sustainable bags. She walked passed me and we smiled. Strong and beautiful. Her one amazing arm.
My two arms were loaded. Library books, an iPad, groceries. But at this moment they felt strong and useful. I could hold all of my bundles and still hold my little daughter's dolly hand as we crossed the road. I know that today my arms aren't ideal, but I give thanks for the fact that i have two at all. Perspective. Time to use a little perspective. Namaste. xoxo
