Fool

"I must learn to love the fool in me - the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my fool." - Theodore I. Rubin, MD

Right now the fool in me includes the one who eats too much, and exercises too little. It has consumed my life, this whole not being able to lose weight thing ... do you know how frustrating it is to be 15 pounds heavier than you were a year ago? Probably some of you know, and then some. And then there are those of you who have never experienced the frustration of putting on weight like you were applying lipstick but losing that weight felt like trying to get dried super glue off your dining room table. It makes me so angry sometimes it's hard to love the fool that got me there, with all her need to feel comforted and celebrate by eating an entire bag of tortilla chips or half a loaf of warm Pugliese bread. *big sigh*

Why am I like this? Why are there women out there who can eat apple fritters and chocolate shakes and barely gain an ounce? WHY?! Why couldn't we all be created equal in the weight department? I laugh about how I look like a hobbit, all short and stocky and round, and matronly - but it sucks. It sucks a hell of a lot less than it did when I was 15 and felt like everyone was Barbie and I was a Troll Doll. Being 31 (and a half) and being short enough to be mistaken for a middle schooler from a distance, but flabby enough to be seen as a mom up close is just annoying. I have always thought to myself - just once I want to be beautiful, gorgeous, thin, put together. That's why I wanted to have a huge wedding. I wanted to lose 50 pounds, look amazing, wear a flattering dress, hair style, makeup, and have beautiful photographs taken of me. Like, Glamour Shots, but less tacky and with presents. :)

It's hard to look in the mirror and not see the reflection of who you think you are. In my mind I feel intelligent, wry, sporty, tailored, statuesque. I am everything but the last three, and I feel like the dopey, disheveled stump on the outside eradicates any indication that I might contain the first two aspects. I think over the years I have let go of my desire to be graceful and beautiful, because I just knew my body would never meet my standards. So I started changing who I am on the inside. Hello, goofy, unconventional, and inappropriate. Of course I don't care about my less than ideal body, and in case you were unsure about that, my personality should clear up any misconceptions. As a whole, I'm less than ideal. My husband always berates me for being so hard on myself in my posts, and I know I am. But I'd rather point out what I feel everyone else thinks about me, than imagine what people say behind my back. I already know what you think, you don't need to judge me.

Fear of judgement is one of my many poisons. I  just want to please everyone all the time. I know "they" say that the older you get, the less you care about what people think. And so far this has been true. Each year I care a little less about what people think about me, but I start to care a little more about what *I* think about *me*. I think about my legacy. When I look at pictures of my mom when I was young, I see a gorgeous and graceful woman. When I see pictures of me, especially when Dave was a baby, I am a fat and awkward jacktard. When I was about 13 I told an adult  friend that a mother's hands should be elegant and delicate, not stubby man-hands like I had. How could I ever be the kind of mom I wanted to be with my horrible "carny hands"?! She said, "That's funny, because my grandmother had hands like yours. To me, your  hands are mother's hands." I still wanted pretty mommy hands, but I realized that everyone has their own ideals.

I am trying to evolve my own ideals. That I am a different kind of beautiful with my lumpy butt and tummy that never seems to glide roll-lessly into a nice fitting pair of wide legged Citizens for Humanity jeans. I keep trying to get to my ideal and I keep making adjustments. I'm not there yet. I'm not happy with what I look like, and the older I get, the more fearful I am that I will just get fatter and uglier. Am I never going to have my "Glamour Shots" moment? Will I never get to have photographic evidence that I am gorgeous and graceful on the outside?

Life is rough enough managing all the minor details and nuances in a single day. Being reminded that I have a body that requires extra maintenance only tires me out and pisses me off. For now, I deal. For now, I keep trying. For now, I am just living. One day, though, I just really want my moment to shine.