I lose my keys daily. I lose track of time. At times I’ve lost my marbles, my cool, and even my mojo. They resurface eventually. There is one thing I’ve lost, that I never thought I’d miss. My booty, derriere, caboose, or junk in my trunk. Who’da thunk? After a lifetime of insecurity and hours invested towards its undoing, I want it back.
The swell that followed my every move, from birth to womanhood, was a nothing but a pain in the….well, you know. Teasing in grade school, blossomed to self consciousness and oversized clothes. I wanted long, lean legs and to fit into a pair of iconic guess jeans. Being 2 inches over 5 feet, thick thighed, rounded and a jock made that impossible. “Bootylicious” wasn’t part of the modern lexicon then and “Baby Got Back” didn’t make its recording debut until my senior year of high school.
So, what changed? Not my body, at first anyway. A boyfriend, now husband, who appreciated that extra sway, only a full seat can provide, wasn’t a bad start. My perspective changed. Women, who embodied the power of the female form, for me, weren’t scrawny girls in need of good meal. Naming names: Sophia Loren, Mae West, Beyonce, Tyra Banks, Kate Winslet and of course Marilyn Monroe. These women have stopped traffic, turned heads and commanded attention just by showing up, over the course of generations. The Goddess Aphrodite, or Roman Venus, represents love, desire, fertility, beauty and pleasure. None of these ladies make me want to feed them a thick steak. I’m no historian, art or otherwise, but I don’t think wars were waged or kingdoms conquered for the likes of Kate Moss or Twiggy.
Ladies, we are supposed to have curves. Hip swinging, thigh rubbin’, bra fillin’ curves. I’m not talking fat, unhealthy dysfunctional bodies. If you consider Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren or Raquel Welch fat you’re welcome to that woefully, sad opinion.
So, back to what happened to me. Well. I had my first baby, and did everything wrong. Ate wrong, I’d have to have exercise, to say I did it wrong. Regardless, I thought I’d follow my mom and grandma’s example and drop the pregnancy weight in a few weeks. And I was wrong….and super pissed off at myself. I got thyself to the gym and worked hard. Even made peace with double digit sized jean, because I actually thought I looked pretty good. Not worrying about my behind anymore, I started to learn more about exercising and it was all about challenging myself. I felt like a warrior, and after changing a few things, I seemed to shrink. Believe it or not I got scared and I went to the doctor. In my mind, I wasn’t trying to lose weight, so something had to be wrong. I was shooting for stronger, faster, leaping building and whatnot. Upon describing my usual workout to my dear doctor, she looked at me like I was speaking Martian. Feeling rather silly, and a bit confounded, I left her office.
That was about 4 years ago. I’m not giving up how I workout, and I eat well. So, I got what I wanted, or so I thought. My husband jokingly tells me I’m scrawny, and that he misses the zaftig padding of my behind. You know what?
So. Do. I.