Broken Record

Balance is on my mind a lot these days.  Finding the right balance for everything in life is what life is all about, right?  My problem dejour is my body; ie: body image.  Talking about how I feel about my body drives my husband batty.  He CANNOT STAND it.  To him I’m perfect.  He is sweet and loving and loves me just the way I am.

Me, on the other hand, I have an EXTREME love/hate relationship with my body.  One day I’m happy and content with what I’ve got.  I love my curvy hips, large bottom and small waist.  I love my strong calves, slim arms and round face.  Then, BAM!, the next day I HAVE everything physically about myself.  All I see is the cellulite on my thighs, the pooch of my belly and my not-so-adorable saddle bags I carry with me everywhere.

It’s not just my husband I make crazy, it’s me.  I hate that I’m this way.  Why can’t I be happy with what I have?  Why must I be so vain and critical of myself?  Why am I this way?

I don’t know the answer to these  questions but I do know I’ve got to stop my body loathing.  If not for myself then for my sweet boys.

Today, whilst getting ready to go, I kept telling my husband I looked fat in this or that.  He rolled his eyes and told me I looked great.  I ran to the other room mid outfit change 2,000,000 and when I came back hubby asked if I’d heard what son #1 said.  I hadn’t and hubby told my my son, my sweet, skinny, adorable, perfect boy had slumped on the floor in my room and announced that he was fat.  FAT!?!  The kid is skin and bones.  And the blame for his comment falls squarely on my shoulders.

So that’s it.  I’m pledging to never, I repeat, NEVER say I’m fat again.  I can’t promise that those thoughts won’t pop into my mind.  I can’t promise that I won’t FEEL fat but I can control the words that my children hear coming out of my mouth.


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