Mumsaid take care of yourself
Today I went to a well-known day spa in our fair city and had an aloe and herb body wrap. I was scared, ashamed, scared, unsure, curious, excited, scared...you get the point.
You may be wondering, "What's the big deal? Why is Pattermomma so damn scared?"
Well...
Two children and various stages of using food or the control of food as medicine have left my body in not the most attractive of states.
I am the heaviest I have ever been (maybe...I think I might have dropped a couple pounds this summer), and had my youngest in November. It takes some of us mommas a little longer than others to return to what is now the New Normal. My belly is floppy, my breasts are suffering from gravity, and what the hell happened to my ass and thighs? Since when did I start looking like...a Mother?
I often thank the Fates that I am no longer the naive youngun' I was in my early twenties, but I also curse those same Fates for removing the physical perfection along with the naivete. And why the hell did I think I was FAT then? If I only was able to see what was coming...
In the words of the wise sage, Joni Mitchell, "You don't know what you've got til it's gone..."
Seriously, Pattermomma, since when did you become so superficial? How un-Pattermomma of you.
See, the interesting twist to this self-scrutiny is that I don't hold others to the same standard as I hold myself. I love my friends and family and students, no matter what form. I love them skinny (though I may be a bit jealous as any normal girl would...and I may tell them to quit bitching because if I looked like them I'd run around naked ALWAYS) and I love them fat. I don't look at them with those adjectives. But you bet your buns of steel that EVERY time I look in the mirror I detest what I see.
Pattermomma? I know what happened to your ass and thighs. And your belly and breasts...I know what happened...I mean, besides the Ben and Jerry's.
Across the room is the sweetest and smartest Boy I know. Yes, I love my students and nephews, but this Boy is something special. I made this Boy myself. This Boy is fascinated with all things mathematical and scientific, especially geometry, physical science, and chemistry. This Boy is more intelligent and observant than most adults, yet can still find Joy in Play Doh. This Boy could recite "Twas the Night Before Christmas" at age three. This Boy would rather read a science book than play video games. This Boy understands that sometimes Momma is Just Plain Sad. I could go on forever...but to sum it all up: This Boy is special. I call him GreenWarrior.
And in the other room is a sleeping angel who just arrived straight from the Hand of God. She has the bluest eyes I have ever seen along with a laugh so infectious she could crack up the Queen's Guard. She is a sponge, absorbing every bit of information that surrounds her and processing it faster than anything Intel can come up with. Her job, at birth, was to Observe. She then took on her new assignment: Move. She is tackling that assignment with fury (quite literally, actually) and adding her third task: Explore. Everything has a Taste. Everything has a Touch. Aaaand everything can make sound when patted or smacked together. Everything is Learning. Learning is Good. Her intuition is astounding. She knew that when we received news our friend was murdered this summer that it was time to be quiet, observe, and heal with Touch. She knows when we enter a room if her favorite people are there, particularly Daddy. She knows if something is going on that she wants to be a part of it. Sleep be damned! There's a World to Explore! She knows so much. I call her Pattergirl.
That's what happened. And that's why I stood naked in front of a total stranger who is in much better physical form than I, and let go of my fears.
This body has a story to tell. It's been through a lot. And it deserves to be taken care of.
I left the spa feeling like I had won the lottery on a beautiful spring morning and never, ever needed Zoloft again. I renewed some part of my physical self, I am sure, but more importantly I nurtured my Spirit. That's the Self that Mum must have really been talking about.
You may be wondering, "What's the big deal? Why is Pattermomma so damn scared?"
Well...
Two children and various stages of using food or the control of food as medicine have left my body in not the most attractive of states.
I am the heaviest I have ever been (maybe...I think I might have dropped a couple pounds this summer), and had my youngest in November. It takes some of us mommas a little longer than others to return to what is now the New Normal. My belly is floppy, my breasts are suffering from gravity, and what the hell happened to my ass and thighs? Since when did I start looking like...a Mother?
I often thank the Fates that I am no longer the naive youngun' I was in my early twenties, but I also curse those same Fates for removing the physical perfection along with the naivete. And why the hell did I think I was FAT then? If I only was able to see what was coming...
In the words of the wise sage, Joni Mitchell, "You don't know what you've got til it's gone..."
Seriously, Pattermomma, since when did you become so superficial? How un-Pattermomma of you.
See, the interesting twist to this self-scrutiny is that I don't hold others to the same standard as I hold myself. I love my friends and family and students, no matter what form. I love them skinny (though I may be a bit jealous as any normal girl would...and I may tell them to quit bitching because if I looked like them I'd run around naked ALWAYS) and I love them fat. I don't look at them with those adjectives. But you bet your buns of steel that EVERY time I look in the mirror I detest what I see.
Pattermomma? I know what happened to your ass and thighs. And your belly and breasts...I know what happened...I mean, besides the Ben and Jerry's.
Across the room is the sweetest and smartest Boy I know. Yes, I love my students and nephews, but this Boy is something special. I made this Boy myself. This Boy is fascinated with all things mathematical and scientific, especially geometry, physical science, and chemistry. This Boy is more intelligent and observant than most adults, yet can still find Joy in Play Doh. This Boy could recite "Twas the Night Before Christmas" at age three. This Boy would rather read a science book than play video games. This Boy understands that sometimes Momma is Just Plain Sad. I could go on forever...but to sum it all up: This Boy is special. I call him GreenWarrior.
And in the other room is a sleeping angel who just arrived straight from the Hand of God. She has the bluest eyes I have ever seen along with a laugh so infectious she could crack up the Queen's Guard. She is a sponge, absorbing every bit of information that surrounds her and processing it faster than anything Intel can come up with. Her job, at birth, was to Observe. She then took on her new assignment: Move. She is tackling that assignment with fury (quite literally, actually) and adding her third task: Explore. Everything has a Taste. Everything has a Touch. Aaaand everything can make sound when patted or smacked together. Everything is Learning. Learning is Good. Her intuition is astounding. She knew that when we received news our friend was murdered this summer that it was time to be quiet, observe, and heal with Touch. She knows when we enter a room if her favorite people are there, particularly Daddy. She knows if something is going on that she wants to be a part of it. Sleep be damned! There's a World to Explore! She knows so much. I call her Pattergirl.
That's what happened. And that's why I stood naked in front of a total stranger who is in much better physical form than I, and let go of my fears.
This body has a story to tell. It's been through a lot. And it deserves to be taken care of.
I left the spa feeling like I had won the lottery on a beautiful spring morning and never, ever needed Zoloft again. I renewed some part of my physical self, I am sure, but more importantly I nurtured my Spirit. That's the Self that Mum must have really been talking about.
This is what I love about you, Caryn. You are real, honest and willing to put into words what women everywhere think to them self. The negative self talk we engage in can be so destructive. Why is it we can build up our students, our children, our friends, our lover through kind and positive words, but we can't do the same for our self? Why are we our worst critic, rather than our biggest cheerleader?
ReplyDeleteKeep on writing, maybe you'll figure it out for all of us!