Off Duty Mom

Thoughts from an exhausted mom who is NEVER really "off duty"

Archive for the tag “body image”

Well, This is Awkward…

When a minimally-relevant blogger goes M.I.A. for, like two years, and then is all, “Oh right, I have a blog” and suddenly shows back up again…

awkward 1Right.

So, I once loved to write.  Still do, really.  But, life has gotten in the way.  It’s funny, too, because the whole point of this blog was (and is) to talk about the absurdity of growing older and the drama/trauma of being exhausted by work and life.

And, this is all pretty much the least awkward thing about me.  I’m super-awkward.  In fact, the first time I typed that prior sentence, I spelled it “awkard” because I’m so awkward that I can’t even keep all my letters right.

awkward 2People are not really my cup of tea.  Small talk is excruciating.  I’m always saying something stupid.

But, really, that’s in my head, I know.

From the outside looking in, I don’t think anyone things I’m as awkward as I think I am.  Words that have been used to describe me are “poised,” “articulate,” “organized.”  Holy shit that last one is funny.  My desk at work always looks like a bunch of Huns just got done pillaging it. But, I do use color-coded folders in Google Drive, so I’ve got that going for me.

But, what I am realizing is that there is no reason to listen to that dumb-ass in your head who talks to you and tells you how much you suck.  That voice isn’t even REAL.  It’s not a person.  It’s the manifestation of your fears.  It’s the coward of your psyche that lives in a world made exclusively of “what ifs,” and tears you forgot to cry, and memories of mistakes you never actually made and if you did everyone forgot about them anyway.

I wish I had known this at 13.  Or at 19.  Or at 30.  Or yesterday.

But, I suppose I can know them today.  I can start reveling in my badassery.  I can look at my body and be proud that it produced two beautiful children (one delivered naturally with NO drugs — though that hadn’t been the plan).  When I had my first son, an hour afterward, I thought I could do fucking ANYTHING.  I could probably leap buildings in a single bound.  I invented a human being and survived primal torture — torture, I say! — to get him from inside my body to the outside world that June day ten years ago.  I can look at the 85 pounds I cleaned-and-jerked at my CrossFit class not as an embarrassment because I hit that personal best of mine while standing next to a 24-year old who was lifting 120 lbs, but as a goddamn achievement to be celebrated because, not long ago, I could barely lift a fraction of that.  I can look at my desk and be like, “look what a creative MIND I must have!”

So, people, my snark and grumpiness is still inside me because it is frickin’ fabulous and delightful.  But, maybe, if you check back again soon, there will be more positivity here at Off Duty Mom.

Have a great day.

No.  Really…

Conversations with my Post-Baby Body Parts

 

This might help.

This might help.

1.  EYES —

Me:  Hey!  Let’s stay up on Friday night and watch Gravity on Blu-Ray.

Eyes:  Sounds great.  We’ll be done with our job by like 8:30, though, right?

Me:  Well, no.  I will need you until the movie is over.

Eyes:  We can’t promise that.

Me:  Come on.  8:30?

Eyes:  We’re already tired of this conversat—-

 

2.  BACK —

Back:  I hurt.

Me:  I know.  I am not gonna tell anyone, though, because they’ll think we’re old.

Back:  But you groan every time you stand up and you sigh ridiculously loudly every time you sit down.  Who do you think we’re fooling?

 

3.  SKIN —

Me:  Discoloration, zits AND wrinkles?

Skin:  Yeah, and the kids’ college funds have made us too poor for surgical solutions.  If only you could exchange sarcasm for collagen…

 

4.  HAIR —

Me:  I am sure glad I had 9 months of prenatal vitamins that made my hair glossy, thick and luxurious.  That was nice while it lasted.

Hair:  It is so fun when we all jump out of your scalp at once and then the poor schmucks we leave behind all start to turn gray!  Good times!

 

And, it just keeps getting worse.

And, it just keeps getting worse.

5.  BOOBS —

Me:  What the hell?!

Boobs:  Hey, look!  We’re still here!  No.  Down here.  Hello?

 

6.  BRAIN —

Me:  Ugh.

Brain:  Totally.  Hey, let’s worry every minute of every day forever now.  I am totes going to make you cry at greeting card commercials and shout like a lunatic when your kid scores his first soccer goal.  Don’t delay the anti-anxiety meds, lady.  Get me the good stuff, too.  I have a lot going on up here.

 

7.  UTERUS —

Me:  I hate periods.

Uterus:  I hate not having a baby in here.  It’s lonely.

Me:  Hey, um, I put two babies into ya.  That was good, right?

Uterus:  Fuck you.  I want more babies.  Give me more babies!  Every month you don’t give me a baby, I’m going to tear down these walls and make your life a living hell.  I am going to make it feel like there is a giant fist inside your gut grabbing and twisting your vital organs like you’re being juiced.

 

8.  KNEES —

Me:  Hey, what the hell?  You guys never hurt before.  Now all of a sudden I can tell when it is about to rain.  What’s up with that?

Knees:  You’re old.  And chubby.  It’s hard to carry you around.  Less chocolate.  More kale.

 

9.  LEGS —

Me:  Wow.  That’s ugly.

Legs:  So’s your face!  Ha!  Ha!

Me:  No, seriously, veins?  They’re everywhere.  I can’t possibly need that many transport lines for my blood.  Can’t we do some rerouting or something?

Legs:  They got doctors for that, you know.

Me:  I know.  But that shit hurts.  Why can’t you all just straighten up and fly right?

Legs:  Why can’t you embrace our newfound blue beauty?

 

This is what we have to look forward to, then?

This is what we have to look forward to, then?

10.  BUTT–

Me:  Holy shit.  I think I could put a can of soda under my ass cheek and hold it there against my thigh.  When did you get so droopy?

Butt:  I started heading South during Baby #1.  You were too busy designing a nursery motif to notice.  Ever hear of Prenatal Yoga?  Come on, now.

Me:  Sorry.

Butt:  You are sorry.  In about three more years you’re going to have to start getting your drawers at Sears.  SEARS!

Me:  Are you sure?

Butt:  And, they won’t be called “panties,” anymore.  They won’t make “panties” in your size.  They will be “underpants.”

Me:  That sounds awful.

Butt:  And, stop having kids.  With your constant expansion and refusal to do Kegels, you’re going to be a fatty who is also, charmingly, incontinent.  Then, you’ll be on to adult diapers.

Me:  That sucks.

Butt:  Yuppers.

If they fit, we should just get them in every color.

If they fit, we should just get them in every color.

11.  FEET —

Me:  Hey, guys.  My shoes hurt.  I don’t ever remember complaining about that before having a coupla babies.  What gives?

Feet:  Oh, so you thought we’d go back to “normal” size after your babies were born?  That’s cute.  Hey, Cankles, that sparkly boutique downtown called and said they had shoes in our size.  You know the place.  They also cater to guys like Larry who stocks lumber at the Home Depot by day, but who by night hosts a cabaret show under the name of Hillary Clit-Ton.  Sure, Larry’s alter ego’s typical footwear choices make Gaga look more like Amy Farrah Fowler, but whatevs.  They have your SIZE.

 

 

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