Pardon me while I whine...

This is going to be a completely self-centered, whining, petulant post.  So feel free to navigate away, now.  I won't be offended, I promise.  

I am not happy with how I look.  I realize that, far from making me unique, this makes me one with, oh, say... every other woman on the planet.  Yet, this does not make me feel better.  I look in the mirror, and I cringe.  You see, I still have a few pounds of baby weight left to part with, not to mention the few extra pounds I put on after the m/c almost 2 years ago.  I have a wardrobe of cute clothes that I bought before we left Pittsburgh (can I tell you how much I miss the Talbot's outlet??? *sniff*) that I am only just now able to begin to squeeze back into.

Part of the problem is that I'm not exercising. *sigh*  I know...  know...  But face it - there's no money for a gym membership, and just getting out the door... Ugh...  I have a Nordic Track in the basement, and the cheat sheet from the Pilates class I took in Ambridge (Mary, if you're reading this, I *still* miss that class)... So I could.....  Motivation.  I just don't have it...

The other thing is that Hannah is still nursing.  A lot.  And I'm not one of those fortunate girls who loses while breastfeeding.  My body, for some strange reason, holds on to that extra padding for dear life, like some kind of outdated biological maternal safety net.  I begin to lose as they drop feedings.  I had begun to start losing again, after a plateau that lasted most of the late summer and early fall.  Hannah was eating more, and nursing less, and so I was down a few more pounds, and getting into more cute clothes.  But then, she started teething again - cutting 3 molars at once, and just doesn't want to eat much real food anymore.  So, it's back to all Mommy, all the time. *sigh*

I know in my head that it has always taken me right around a year to return to that magical pre-baby number.  But somehow, I always think that *this time* it will be different.  You would think, after going through this SIX times, that I'd wise up.  Call me stupid (hey, I prefer eternally optimistic), but it's not gonna happen sooner.  I *know* that, so why does it bother me so much????

And I am blessed beyond words to have a husband who, honestly, doesn't care.  As a matter of fact, he took me in his arms and chided me - "Babe, you're not 20 anymore.  It sucks, I know, but you're just not going to look like that ever again.  And you shouldn't want to.  You've had six babies.  How many women can do that?  You should be proud of that.  Every stretch mark, that pooch-belly, all of it - just makes you even more beautiful than you were when you were 21.  You're a woman now, not a girl.  And that is so sexy.  I think you are the hottest woman on the planet."

I love him.  He knows just what to say... **silly, slightly embarrassed  grin**  But honestly, I just don't see it.  I look in the mirror and I miss the cute, young thing.

And I feel silly for feeling this way, b/c I know that there are people who are dealing with much more important things on a daily basis - cancer, infertility, job loss, housing situations....  All of which make my rant seem petty and small, and makes me seem ungrateful for the blessings that I have.  Perspective is a good thing.  But like I said, I'm being self-centered for a minute.  I'm not sure I like what that says about me, though... *looong sigh*

But when I look at my kids, it's all worth it.  Every single extra pound, stretch mark, and yes, even the not-so-perky girls.   I wold not trade it for the world.  I cannot imagine my life without them - nor do I want to.  So I just plug along, doing my best to accept who I am now, and to be the best wife and mommy I can be.  Even if it involves being a little extra fluffy.