Disney Needs A More Realistic Princess And I Vote For Me!

Just as pretty much every other woman in the U.S. of A. today, I grew up watching Disney Movies and playing with Barbie dolls. Needless to say, Sleeping Beauty and Barbie didn't exactly impart the healthiest of body images into my young, impressionable mind. So, is it no wonder I always had this mental image of myself that never matched what I saw in the mirror? I think not.

I've read quite a few blogs today that focused on body image. I did have some hot button topic in mind to blog about, but thanks to my mid-day nap, I completely forgot what the hell it was. And I mean COMPLETELY forgot! I don't even have the vaguest idea what the hell it was. Oh well. This seems like as good a topic as any, and I have quite a bit to say on the subject, so why the hell not?

One of my all-time favorite bloggers, this goddess, recently posted a blog in which she reveals that her and I are the same height and the same weight. I love her even more now. Seriously, I want to birth her babies!

I've struggled with my body image over the years of my life, so much so that when I WAS a size 3 (yes, hate me, I was at one point in my life a size 3), I didn't REALIZE I was a size 3 and thought I was fat. Go ahead, you can shoot me for this, I totally understand your hate right now. I have always had this thing where I never look at size labels on clothes. Imagine my recent depression when I went clothes shopping and discovered to my dismay that I am know fluctuating between a size 14 and a 16. Of course this totally depends on my current water content, which obviously has a LOT to do with what time of the month it is (hopefully these damn birth control pills will start taking effect and I won't have to worry about it anymore, but that's a whole other post for a completely different time!) but I'm fluctuating between these sizes nonetheless.

Realizing my current clothing size made me wonder what my current weight was sitting at. I'm now stuck in between 220 and 225, with that fucking little white scale of excitement and/or depression sometimes raising my hopes by revealing the occasional 215, only to completely screw me over by going back up to the usual 220-225. Little fucker. If there weren't people living below me, I'd shoot the damn thing. How smug can it be with a bullet sitting in it? Not very, I'm assuming.

Back to my realization. It dawned on me that I am currently the heaviest I have ever been in my life. And I've shot 4 kids from my cooter. One of which was fucking HUGE (an ounce shy of 10 full pounds people, an OUNCE) and caused me to be so big, my doc was absolutely CONVINCED I was having twins and that they had simply missed it on the sonogram. Imagine her disappointment when only one came out!! (An image of a doctor standing there eagerly awaiting the birth of a second child only to let a disappointed "Oh." when the placenta suddenly makes it appearance just ran through my head - and now I've totally disgusted my readers, GO ME!) And yet, NOW I'm the heaviest I have ever been.

The really funny thing about this? I am pretty much the happiest I have ever been in my life. Granted, I'm currently going through a financial crisis that would make the Secretary of The Treasury feel a LOT better about the American Debt, I'm currently unemployed and DESPERATELY seeking a new job, as is the UH (although not nearly as desperately as I am - again, another post) and I'm considering changing all of my phone numbers so the debt collectors can't call for a few weeks until they find the new number.... Despite that, I am honestly the happiest I have been... Ever! I'm in a secure marriage, in which I know dear old UH loves me dearly (although he could use a good lesson in showing it a little more - grunting doesn't count sweetie - but what husband couldn't?) My kids are simply fabulous, I have an awesome vehicle now (thanks to a miraculous Craigslist post I found), and thankfully, we have a landlord who is totally cool with the fact that it's now the 16th of the month and we're not going to be able to pay rent until the 28th. I know we'll pull out of this financial thing, so I'm not going to let it bother me.

Back to the happiness thing. I admit I have my moments. Like last week when I went to the mall with my teens. I left the house feeling pretty decent about the way I looked, but shortly after arriving at the mall, I caught a sideways glance at my reflection and realized that my normally hidden pooch was out for everyone to see. Now, I don't mean skin showing or anything, if that was the case, I would have turned and walked out and immediately come home to hide in my closet for a few days. No, I mean my sweater wasn't hanging low enough to cover my jean "bump". The one that makes people wonder if I'm pregnant or if I'm just a "chub". Upon noticing this, I immediately became embarrassed and had to fight the urge to suddenly dash into a store and find a loose fitting, low hanging XXL shirt. I rushed through my task at hand - turning in the 20 million job applications I had spent a weekend filling out - and rushed out of the mall all sweaty and ready to go home and cry into my ice cream. Why can't I lose this weight? It's not like I want to be super-model thin, I just want to be in the recommended "healthy" range! For once!!

So, with teenagers securely in the momvan and wondering what the hell just happened, we drove to McDonald's for a $.50 ice cream cone and then drove home. Then something weird happened. I got angry. I was SOOO pissed at myself. Who gives a flying fuck if you have a "pooch"?? You DID, after all, spit 4 giant kids from your crotch!! You're currently on your 3rd marriage! You're about to turn 30, and you've lived shit that most people only read about or see in movies!!! (No, seriously, I've done and seen some shit. All for later posts, trust me!) That's when I had a serious conversation with myself, which almost never happens because I'm usually more of a bullshitter with myself than I am with anyone else... which I admit, is a little weird.

I have curves that half the women in this country spend tons of cash trying to create. I have a husband who dearly, and I do mean DEARLY, loves my curves (I'm lucky if I can get him to keep his hands off of me for 5 minutes - he's like a teenage boy when it comes to that). I'm talented, I'm charming, I'm super duper sickeningly nice to the point that it's hard to dislike me. I'm an annoyingly loyal and great friend. Like drive over to my best friends house and leave a picture of a sammich on her front door for her to find in the morning all because of an on-going joke about MAKING HER A DAMN SAMMICH WOMAN!! (The best part was that she knew SOMETHING was coming, but didn't know what!) I'm charitable to the point of putting myself in some serious debt to help a fellow human-being out. I'm a devout Christian, but nowhere even close to those Westboro fuckwads and won't ever try to convert you or shove a bible down your throat or up your ass... depending on what you're into, that is. I'm a fucking awesome mother to these kids. The world is a fucking lucky place to have me as a part of it, plain and simple. All 220-225 pounds of me!!

The only sad part about all of this, is that it took me 29 and three quarters years to come to this conclusion. I wish more girls today could realize that no matter what their body type is, they're all simply beautiful because of the unique and wonderful people they are on the inside, no matter what Cosmo magazine or Vogue or Hollywood tells them. I can only hope that I can impart that mentality into my two girls, and teach my boys that beauty is about more than what's on the outside. Hopefully, I can raise a whole new generation of girls that love themselves no matter what their label or scale say, and boys who love women because they're strong, confident, opinionated, beautiful women and not because of the media has told them is beauty. I think I'm well on my way to achieving that goal.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find some ice cream, because it's effin' hot in this house!

Sincerely,
Teh Best Mom Evah!!!