I have to confess something here: when I look in the mirror, despite the strives I've made to get fit and live a healthier lifestyle, I do not like what I see. Not in the facial area because I'm way beyond comfortable with my looks (well, if we're being honest, I wish my lashes were longer and that I'd taken precautions to avoid the dark shadows around my eyes but it's not anything a little creative makeup-ing can't fix!) but rather with everything going on from the neck down.
And before you get all, "This girl is crazy! She looks great!" let me just vent this out, okay?
This is me, right now:
First of all, if I didn't have this uber-strong Under Armor sports bra on my breasts would be resting slightly above my belly button. Sorry to burst the bubble for some of my male readers but the fact is nursing two babies + gravity have officially won the Battle of the Boobs and I can't even think about dreaming about going braless. Ever. Unless I was cast as an extra in a National Geographic photo shoot of indigenous women of the Caribbean. In every photo where you look at me and think "GODDAMN THAT'S A NICE RACK!" I assure you- I'm wearing all manner of padding and industrial straps to help set those puppies right.
The mid-section is...depressing. Flabby, annoying and trying to claim squatter's rights 'pon my body. I know it's my fault- I eat well & work out for about two or three weeks and then fall off for about four weeks. During those four weeks there's not a Halal food cart or bag of Fritos that's safe from my gullet. And classes? PFFT! I cancel them left and right. And sleep? What's sleep? So yeah, the belly won't leave.
And I used to have amazing legs. Long and lean and fabulous. Now my thighs rub together when I walk. STILL. Even after all the weight I lost these bitches cling to each other as if separation will kill them. It's annoying to hear that "swoosh-swoosh" of denim friction when I walk. I can't be a stealth, machete-wielding ninja warrior if you can hear me SWOOSH-SWOOSH-ing all up and through the night.
Basically, I still see myself as 200lbs. I'm not sure what it will take for me to realize I'm not a size 16 anymore but I'm working on it. I'm trying to have more "loving this body" days than "order tapeworms from Cambodia" days and am only about 60 percent able to achieve it. I'm sitting here writing all this KNOWING it doesn't make sense. I look fine. I can get away with this size right here if I wanted to because I'm tall and have great undergarments that camouflage me very well. But is it asking too much to live a Spanx-free life? I don't think so.
Me and my mirror are not friends. Me and this body are about to have a falling out. I hate everyone and everything. Oh, and it's PMS Week. WHERE ARE MY BUFFALO WINGS?!
*smooches...unhappy (fat!) and pouty and frustrated*
now please excuse me while I go drown my sorrows in some fried cheese...