Apparently my ability to dress myself is questionable.
This morning I chose to wear a filmy, peach colored, cotton top with lace accents and short sleeves with jeans. Cute and work appropriate for casual Friday.
Despite my ability to fully fill any cup size, I also have some cute bras. This morning I selected a white one with a lavender ribbon trim on the top of each side. A safe choice, I thought.
I looked in the mirror before I left for work. It was early and the room was kinda dark-ish. I didn't see any errant dryer sheets or random sock attached to me by static so I thought it safe to declare myself suitable to leave for work.
Later this morning as I was washing my hands in front of the mirror in the restroom, I looked up and my eyes I saw this-
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| Hello, lavender trim. |
My brain however saw this-
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| Hello boobs with brows! |
For the first time ever I was extremely glad that very little jiggling was going on in there because waggling brows over my boobs could have traumatized me for life.
I spent the rest of the day sweating in my long sleeve cardigan sweater. Pulled tightly closed every time I left my desk.
Note to self: Stop dressing in the dark! Oh, and buy more nude bras.
I think I'm glad that I didn't give birth to any girls. It's easier to hide a not so great body image from boys. I would feel terribly guilty if I caused a daughter to have a less than amazing body image because of the way I see myself.
When I look in the mirror, all I see is what I wish desperately that I could change.
Clear skin where there isn't any. A peaches and cream complexion that was never mine.
Rolls where there should be curves. Baby weight that is 14 plus years old. I'm beginning to think maybe it's not baby weight after all.
Appropriate curves that I've been waiting to develop since I was about 12 years old. I'm pretty sure it's too late to think the boob fairy will be visiting me now.
I could go on and on.
I bought a bikini the other day. It took more than a little prodding from my sweetie. I was looking for a bathing suit that covered as much as possible with enough spandex to securely fasten EVERYTHING in place. I tried his choice on and he liked it so I bought it.
What I really want is to see in the mirror the image that my sweetie sees when he looks at me. I'm really glad that love is blind because he keeps me from running to the closest plastic surgeon and mortgaging my house to make the me that he sees.
When I gave birth to my oldest son all I could think was please let me remember to feed him. I had a hamster and several fish that didn't fare so well on my ability to remember that they needed to eat.
When he was 6 years old I figured I was getting pretty good at keeping him alive I should have another one. After all I only had to feed them for 18 years. Little did I know, feeding them would be the easy part. And I don' t have any idea why I was delusional enough to think that at 18 years old someone flips a magic switch and they no longer need to eat.
I'm not patting myself on the back just yet but it's worth noting that neither of them starved to death (despite my inability to boil water or cook anything outside of the microwave).
Today I went to yet another parent/teacher conference for Nick. As he and I wound our way through a jungle of teenagers to the safety of the guidance office we passed a boy with his tongue so far down a girls throat that he must have been trying to lick her liver. I wanted to pull them apart and demand their parents phone numbers so that I could enlighten them on the self, sex education class that was going at the bottom of the stairs after school. Except that could have been my kid.
A few years ago I had a friend who's son graduated from high school and moved into a college dorm. Her biggest concern was that he would fall asleep with his contacts in and she wouldn't be there to wake him up and remind him to take them out before he went to bed. That seemed silly. Except now Chris is looking at apartments with friends and all I can think is who's going to check on him while he's sleeping and make sure he is still breathing. I spent a lot of years making sure I kept him alive and now he could just stop breathing and I wouldn't know it!
I don't expect anyone to understand why I check on my 14 and 20 year old sons every night (sometimes several times) to see if they're breathing, but any time I wake up at night I do. I'd say that being a mother takes away all rationale but I think it's just me.
Raising kids is HARD!
Much harder than keeping goldfish or hamsters alive.
