11 December, 2014

Body image.

I've been pretty open about my self image issues.  The eating disorder, the lack of good judgement when it came to dating in the past, forever being cast as "the funny one" during my teenage (and post teenage) years.  Now, of course, it's the wobbly tummy and saggy boobs from having grown the bratlets.  I've never been happy with my looks, and I can't even remember how old I was when I started identifying as fat.

Today, as I walked into town, I began to notice a trend.  The girl walking just ahead of the pushchair was gorgeous, a stately Amazonian warrior princess with fantastic legs showcased in a mini skirt.  She was blatantly going out, maybe a Christmas do, or whatever, but she looked amazing.  The men walking toward us, every single one of them, checked her out from the front and then waited for her to pass so they could see if the back was just as good.  (It was.)

Thing is, I overheard the comment from one of the guys to his mate as they walked past me.  "Too tall, though."  I'm sorry, what?  The perfectly lovely specimen that you just shamelessly ogled isn't quite perfect enough for you, you misogynistic little toad?

So I'm realising that it's not about what other people think.  It's about me and how I feel about me.  Yes, my belly is wobbly.  It housed two humans (one at a time, thank goodness) one of whom was close to eleven pounds and two feet long.  Yes, I can tuck my boobs into my waistband.  They fed the same two humans (and still feed one of them).  Stretch marks?  Battle scars.

It's all good, baby.

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