Archive for the ‘ Women’s Stuff ’ Category

Trusting my body

This is quickly becoming one of those weeks, where I wish I could press the rewind button and start it all over. However as we all know life doesn’t quite work like that, so all we can do is carry on and do the best that we can to maintain sanity in the midst of madness. Part of me maintaining my sanity is making time for me, oddly enough that includes taking time every day to write whether it is in my journal or in this humble little space. Today I am in this space.

While the list of things I could bitch about is ever growing, I realized a few days ago that actually there is a bright spot. Earlier this year, I gave up my relationship with Weight Watchers; don’t get me wrong Weight Watchers didn’t do me wrong in anyway. Hell, I actually took off almost 50 pounds with WW and maintained that loss for several years until I got sloppy by their standards and eventually I gained back almost 20 of the 50 pounds.

I had planned to get back together with Weight Watchers this year but found myself resistant; the truth is I wanted to learn to trust my body to make right choices without concern about points or that dreaded weekly meeting. It’s been a journey this year as I embraced the idea of intuitive eating and trusting that my body will make the right choices.

Well after months of feeling stalled and wondering if my body didn’t know how to trust itself, all of sudden it seems my body has gotten the memo that she is a capable being who can choose what and when to eat and doesn’t need the weekly meeting or those points. I don’t know exactly when this all started to happen, but I know that I am no longer freebasing desserts daily, a simple dark chocolate square is often all I want when I feel the need for something sweet.

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I baked exactly one pie, and in the end I had one slice of that pie and ended up throwing away almost half a pie. Oddly enough I didn’t feel any which way about that either. I find my body craving more fruits and veggies than ever before as evidenced by the fact that I was way more enthusiastic about the vegetarian café that opened up near my job, than I ever would have thought it possible.

I don’t step on the scale often, but I do know that all of a sudden my bigger clothes, the ones I reluctantly bought this fall now have room in them. After realizing that all my large clothes have room, I did break down and step on the scale and was pleasantly surprised. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, last year I read several of Geneen Roth’s books and learned about intuitive eating and knew that initially it would be an adjustment, one that might even cause the numbers to rise but that eventually my body would find its sweet space…guess we are heading to the sweet spot.

In the end who knows what all this means, but I admit I am digging my veggies, yoga and walking, now if I could get my seven year old to join me in the veggie love. Then again maybe I need to trust that her body will guide her and that eventually she will want to eat good healthy foods and lose her love for all things meaty and swine. Trusting my own body might actually be easier than trusting my child’s body, but that is a post for another day.

I had no intention of writing about Jennifer Livingston’s amazing display of awesome, after some concern troll sent her a letter informing of her of the obvious…yeah she’s a big girl. If you haven’t seen the video and have no idea of who Jennifer is, you have to watch this video. Seriously, she gave it back to this asshat. On top of that, Liz over at Six Year Itch also wrote an amazing post inspired by Jennifer, so really I didn’t think the world needed my two cents.

Until I saw this tweet that someone tweeted me in response to one of my tweets. “Our weight defines who we are.” I admit seeing that tweet, made me sit up and take notice and well here I am. I have made no secret of the fact that since my late 20’s, I have been riding the weight gain roller coaster. I go up and I go down, I have had some medical issues in recent years that knocked me off my comfortably thin perch and at times have brought me lower than a snake’s belly.

We live in a culture that for women puts a high premium on being thin, so much so that more women than not seem to wrap their self-esteem and value as humans up into numbers, either the numbers on the scale or the numbers on the tags of their clothes. Unlike money where higher numbers are better, for weight, we want smaller numbers, the smaller the better and if for some reason the numbers aren’t small, we seem to take it as a sign of human failure. So we live life at half capacity, limiting ourselves because we don’t think we are worthy enough. All because we don’t have the right numbers.

Granted there are growing numbers of women, who are learning to love themselves and accept their bodies and their lives regardless of their numbers. Sadly though their numbers are still small and it’s still an uphill battle since accepting one’s body and its imperfections is often harder said than done when thin is queen and is everywhere we go.

The funny thing is men while they have their own issues, rarely seem as fixated on numbers as women. I was thinking this morning about men that I know who have accepted their imperfections including the middle aged guy paunch that often occurs and the level of sexy that many of these guys still display. While I accept that men and women are vastly different, this is one time I think that maybe women should take a tip from the men.

Look those numbers mean not a damn thing unless you choose to give them value, you wear a size 16? Great, why does it matter? Things only matter and have value if we choose to let them have value otherwise they are just things or again in this case numbers. If you are a wonderfully talented whatever, let that define you. The person who wakes up in the quiet of the morning and feels the stillness of the day and takes it all in is who you are and it’s who I am, not a fucking number.

I have been on a quest to be fabulously fit by 40, so far it’s going slow and my birthday will be here in January. While there is a good chance I may lose the pounds I want to lose, the fact is maybe I won’t. However my body is far more flexible than it ever was, I can do difficult poses in yoga that 2 years ago I could only dream about. My “numbers” that count like blood pressure are good and I am looking at food with new eyes. Nothing is bad, double chocolate cake is only cake until I decide otherwise and a few nights ago, I decided it was what my body wanted and it was good.

I know some of my regular readers probably get a little tired of me talking about getting older, but one of the reasons I talk about it quite often is that there are real gifts that come from spending more time on this planet. One being that at certain point, the realization that your time here is limited, after all even if you die at 90; it still means you will die. So you realize that eventually you get tired of others defining who and what you should be and if Sophia Wisdom decides to rain down on you, you realize that you are in control of your life, therefore the only person who can define you is you. In the end we are souls and spirits housed in bodies that eventually fade and that everything else is simply window dressing.



I am laid up sick on a gorgeous Sunday, for the first time in months it’s not a million degrees outside, talk about unfair! But hey, my misfortune is your good fortune since at least today I am well enough to sit up and do some writing. I probably should be writing a grant or something, but a blog post is far more fun.

Anyway it’s been about a month since I wrote about my journey to be fit for 40. January will be here before I know it and I really want to start my 4th decade off with some good habits which means unlearning 3 decades worth of shit. Really what that means is I have to learn to like exercise and physical activity, now I am not a complete slacker, I do love me some sex and that burns off calories. However unless I want to have sex for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it seems I might need something a little more than sex to keep this body healthy. I have also learned this month that while yoga has worked wonders for my mental state, it might not be nearly as wonderful for my waistline. Unless one has a crazy high metabolism, there is a school of thought that yoga can slow down one’s metabolism. At first glance I laughed but as I just finished reading William Broad’s The Science of Yoga, I can say that my own experience is that yoga has indeed slowed down my metabolism. For the past several months as I have increased my weekly sessions to keep myself calm, I have had a rather strange weight gain, nothing big but enough to wonder what the hell is happening? Turns out that since I wasn’t doing anything other than yoga, my body slowed down so much that it decided “Hey, we can’t be bothered to lose any weight and oh those sweets and wine you were having a few nights a week, we decided to sit on your midsection because we are chill!”

I am ramping up my walking game and contemplating joining a gym, while I will admit to a certain level of desire to look good, in the end it’s really about feeling good and being healthy. No matter how much I tell myself a mini spare tire isn’t bad, I know it’s not true for me.

So I am working my plan for fit at 40 but what I really want to talk about is the shit no one tells you about aging. Can we get real for a moment? For years now there has been all this talk that 40 is the new 20 or the new 30 but the truth is 40 is 40. Now I know I am still 39 but using the logic that 40 is the new 20 or 30, that would mean 39 is like the new 19 or 29 and I am sorry but my body no longer resembles the one I had at either 19 or 29.

For starters I never had the hair issues I currently have when I was 19 or 29. Now before I share, let me just say I have talked with offline friends, online gals and women in between and there is consensus that ladies as we age, we get more hair. When you are a pretty young thing, sure there is the hair on your head, eyebrows, legs and underarms that you worry about if you are one to worry about such things. I must confess when it comes to leg hair; I only worry about that shit in warm weather months. Now of course we have pubic hair removal if that’s your thing, but ladies the hair that happens as we age is scary shit.

It seems for many of us that somewhere between our mid and late 30’s, we start seeing that stray chin hair. No worries, you pluck it and go on about your business. Oh no, that’s not good enough, that one singular stray hair somehow starts procreating and one day you are looking in the mirror on your way out the door and what do you see? A fucking family of chin hairs, and if that is not bad enough, they have started visiting your neck. Then to really fuck with you, that area above your lip now has enough hair present that if you do nothing, you will look like your brother. If you are really special, you get the side face hair. Let me tell you all of a sudden, you find yourself with enough hair that you cannot ignore that shit and suddenly you are BFF’s with the waxing lady. Now if you haven’t reached this stage in your aging process, pat yourself on the back, something is headed your way. If none of it happens to you, please tell us your secrets.  The cost of keeping yourself from looking like Sasquatch’s lady love if annualized is the price of a vacation. Granted you can be one of the bold and brave and let the hair live but I am going to be honest, I am not there yet.

Which brings me to hair on your head, when the first gray strands pops up it’s cool but when a family of gray pushes out your original in my case dark brown hair, you decide to color. Well when you color it’s a commitment. Sure I could do nothing, but gray at 39 is not where I am and oh those later gray hairs are evil bitches, hard to color and even with a fabulous colorist, the color jobs don’t last as they did in your 20’s. Grays are evil!

Lastly, why is it that no one tells you that in your late 30’s and early 40’s that all the hormones sloshing around in your body will at times make you feel as if you have reprised the role of yourself at 15. Complete with pimples and a tire around the middle because unless you’re are a fitness nut, or have a kick ass metabolism, weight generally likes the middle. To add insult to injury, you have are extra hairy, you have pimples and you are graying. Never mind you might have grown up shit like kids, a partner, bills and all that jazz.

So if this shit is so common, why are we all running around saying and believing that 40 is the new 20 or 30? No it isn’t! Better yet why don’t we share this shit with each other? Why aren’t the ladies in their 50’s and 60’s telling us younger women what the real deal is? I figure the real reason sex is better for most of us as we age and that we find our true selves is that it takes some amazing inner strength to navigate our teen selves in grown up bodies, so we get confidence and great sex as a prize.

Once upon a time in a life far away, I used to care a lot about both my looks and my weight. Then life smacked me upside the head and there was little time to care about such things. I eventually gained weight, took it off, kept it off and gained some of it back. Pretty much that shitty struggle many of us have. For the past several months I have been on the fence about actively doing anything about the weight, instead committing to just finding balance in my life with regards to what I eat and how I move my ass.

Yet as I slowly edge closer to 40 (less than 6 months away now) I have been in serious talks with myself about how I want to treat this temple known as my body. Frankly it depresses me to think about ever returning to Weight Watchers or any diet program. While the idea of just living a life compatible with the health at every size ideology resonates with me, after a few months of playing around with it, I must confess it simply isn’t working.

I figured this out recently when after a few months of not limiting myself in what I ate but also realizing my clothes aren’t fitting and that I feel like shit physically. Turns out carbs hate me and my daily carb fest is packing on the pounds. Also when left to my own devices and not being intentional I hate exercising, then again I was the kid who managed to fail gym in high school multiple times. I love yoga but yoga is a mental thing for me and while I am flexible as hell these days and can do all sorts of silly party tricks with my body, my body is like move me lady!

At first all this body shit was coming from a place of vanity but now it’s about living well and living long. My gene pool to be frank sucks ass. On both my mom and dad’s sides of the family, people don’t live long and it’s not just a few people. Neither of my dad’s parents lived to a ripe old age, my mom’s dad checked out at 54, and then my own mom kicked the bucket 4 days after turning 50.  None of which is exactly a winning endorsement for any expectation of a long life for me.

One common thread in my family is that none of my relatives took care of themselves. Most were overweight and affected with ailments such as diabetes and hypertension and problems that eventually morphed and claimed their lives. Looking at all the women in my family with the exception of my mom, we all share a certain build, one that predisposes us to carrying weight smack in the middle. Apparently carrying extra weight around the middle is bad.

I am going to be honest I had been mulling all this over and making some baby steps which have me seeing some results but a call last night has me now fully committed to changing my lifestyle. My aunt, my mom’s remaining sister (another sister died at 34, collapsed and died) is barely in her 50’s and suffering from congestive heart failure and it’s not looking too good. My aunt much like my mom and many other relatives who are gone now, enjoyed life, ate, drank, smoked and got merry. Now like her 2 sisters before her and a brother she is facing a premature death.

Maintaining optimal health for me is unfortunately tied to my weight, and I admit that is a hard pill to swallow. But I don’t want to end up swallowing pills on a daily basis to stay alive like most of my family so the alternative is a shift in mindset, so as I wrap up my 30’s, I am kicking off my personal quest to be fabulously fit at 40 and beyond because I want to make sure my 40’s aren’t my last full decade of life. I want to do everything possible to ensure that my kids don’t know the pain of losing me when I am still relatively young. I want to live to see my kids grow up (okay I am technically halfway there with the 20 year old) and I want to see grandbabies. I want to be the fabulous Grammy in her 70’s and beyond. So while I am not quite ready to run back to Weight Watchers or anything like that I am getting serious about this maintaining health thing.

To keep myself honest I will periodically share my journey in this space which I expect will have its ups and downs but that’s the thing about a journey. It’s a process and while in my case the end goal is important, so are the lessons I learn along the way.

For readers 40 and beyond, I would love to know if you made any lifestyle changes as you got older that you never would have considered when you were younger?

Almost V-day…be sexy for you!

Tis the season for love and romance with Valentine’s Day just mere days away, are you ready? If you are anything like me, past a certain age Valentine’s Day does absolutely not a thing for you. I mean can’t you let me know you love me all the time? Why do we need a “special” day to share that love? Let’s just love each other all the time, though I will say I do appreciate the chocolate covered strawberries that are available on Valentine’s Day.

Seriously though, after the early dating years and first few years of marriage, I told the partner man to not worry about V-Day.  That said I am all about ways to feel sexy and attractive just for the hell of it. When I was younger and not carting around a few extra pounds, a saggy belly and less than perky twins, sexy was more external, sexy meant a sleek outfit and heels. I am in a different place in my life now, for starters, heels make my feet hurt, and if I want to look sleek I need either a corset or my nemesis otherwise known as Spanx. No, sexy at this stage in my life starts with me and is less about being sexy to anyone other than me. Granted a sexy state of mind will generally radiate outward regardless of what one is wearing. We all know that gal who is sexy and we can’t figure it out. She is walking around in old Danskos and faded yoga pants but something about her makes us want to have a girl crush on her.

So while a positive state of mind can lead to sexy, there are a few other things I like to use when I want to be sexy. Remember learning about kegels when you were pregnant? If you were anything like me, you probably learned about kegels and promptly forgot about them too. Of course a few years after the kiddos arrival you find yourself wishing you had paid attention and learned those kegels. Well, have no fear, it’s not too late.  You can tighten up below and add a little spark in your daily walking around by using ben wa balls or even jade eggs. EdenFantasys, my favorite place when I am in the need of some adult toys for my personal toy box carries ben wa balls.  The beauty of ben wa balls is you can strengthen your vaginal muscles and make yourself smile; if you are feeling really bold, you can head out for the day with ben wa balls in place and leave everyone wondering why you have a big smile on your face. Kids making a mess, no worries!

I admit this probably sounds racy or even a tad strange, but seriously stuff like this which I do strictly for myself, makes me feel good and when I am feeling good, damn it, I am sexy. So sure maybe you want to do something for that special someone in your life on Valentine’s Day but how about doing something for you?

This post is sponsored by EdenFantasys

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No more bushes!

This post is probably best avoided if you are a blood relative of mine or a tad prudish.

Hey kids! It’s a New Year!  Now put that tree away, don’t worry about that extra five pounds you have gained from too much baking, it will come off.  Let’s kick the year off right here in BGIM land by talking about bushes or shall I say the lack thereof. The other day I came across this piece in The Atlantic and well it left me stunned. If you have been with me for a while, you may remember this piece I wrote when I was contemplating the plunge and getting my first Brazilian wax. I never did follow up that piece, after all it seemed a tad awkward even by my standards to write about the process, but I will say I did it.

Yep, I paid $75 plus a tip to get scalding hot wax smeared over my nether regions and ripped off with cloth strips. Turned out it wasn’t nearly as painful as I thought it would be, but I will say the process is ummmm, strange. I don’t know, usually when my nether region is that exposed and I am putting myself into positions, it means Mama is about to get happy. Now many women will tell you once you get a Brazilian, you will never go without one…hate to tell ya, BULLSHIT! Sure it’s an interesting feeling and yeah you do notice a difference when you are getting your sex on, but the reality for me it simply wasn’t worth adding that type of expense to my budget. I mean shit, I already have to wax, my eyebrows, upper lip and occasionally spot work on the chin and neck. Sorry, that’s enough regular waxing just to make sure I don’t start looking like that scary clerk at the local grocery store who proudly rocks her stache.

Now after I took the plunge, I asked the Spousal Unit what he thought about the whole Brazilian thing and he was basically of the mind, that sure it’s nice but no need to do it monthly or even quarterly for him. I mean we are adults here, but he’s been getting my goodies all these years and the goodies are the same whether I am bald as an eagle or a hairy lioness.

Well based off The Atlantic piece, it’s a good thing we are a couple of old heads. Apparently today’s young man does not appreciate a woman with hair in her nether regions. To paraphrase some of the thoughts expressed by men, a woman who isn’t bare down there is seen as weird. Really? It’s weird to have hair in an area that traditionally has hair? Of course young women aren’t exactly fighting the sentiment when they express that being bare in their nether region makes them feel more attractive. In almost 39 years on this rock, the state of my pubic hair has never had much impact on how I felt about myself. In fact any time I have been in a deep mental or emotional funk, my pubic hair situation had zero bearing on the situation.

I admit even before I read this piece I occasionally found myself thinking about this, but unlike college kids or younger women, most gals in my age group aren’t necessarily talking about the state of their pubes with one another. Hell, until one of my besties a die-hard feminist who often railed against the idea of being bare down there, took the plunge and was so surprised about how much she liked it, I never gave it a second thought. I do know that since I wrote the piece a while back, I have heard from a few gals in my age demographic on the matter. In my small very unscientific sample, women either are Brazilian devotees or frankly pretty repulsed by the whole thing. I haven’t heard from too many who fall into my take it or leave it camp.

I admit the thing about Brazilians as routine that bugs me is that it feels like it places yet one more unrealistic expectation on women. Can we talk cost? Look, these things aren’t cheap, even here in Maine, the cheapest Brazilian will cost you $40, and basically you are taking a risk. The cheapest ones are offered at the Asian nail salons, where every time I go to get a pedicure, I notice the same dingy looking towel on the table as I walk pass the waxing room. I don’t know about you, but I am not stripping down and laying my bare ass on a less than sanitary table all to have a bare vulva. Never mind the fact that at my local nail shop the language barrier sometimes means my foot soaking water is the wrong temperature, I am either freezing my tootsies or being scaled.

Why is it, men don’t have silly unrealistic burdens put upon them when it comes to their bodies? A man get older, develops a paunch, loses his hair and he gets to be himself and probably can still get a woman if he is reasonably attractive with a personality and some teeth. Yet let a woman get a little gray, develop a little potbelly and have some hair on her vulva and she might as well just snuggle up to her Hitachi Magic Wand.

Maybe I am just in a cranky mood, but the fact that younger women play along with these ridiculous standards created by the media and men, just piss me off. It’s one thing to do what you want to your body because it’s something you want. In other words if you like to be bare, go for it! But if fear of a man ridiculing your body or judging it when you are willing to share your deepest self is what keeps you tethered to hot wax, I say bullshit!

Peri you b**ch….talking woman talk!

Today’s post is for the gals, specifically the gals in their late 30’s and beyond or for those who love such a gal. Granted if you are younger feel free to read because one day your time will come; by the way this post is not for the squeamish…nah, I am not getting super gross but this is a real talk post.

It’s been a while but can we revisit the issue of perimenopause, or Peri as I have taken to calling this wretched bitch. Yeah, Peri has me down today, add in this freak snow storm in late October and I am feeling like hot shit. I have a birthday coming up soonish, first of the year to be exact. All goes well it will be my last year in my 30’s and let me tell you in recent months, I am really starting to feel a shift in my body.

I always love when someone tells me I am not old, no 38 is not exactly old as Methuselah but let’s get real, 38 ain’t 18 and while my mind is young, my body is starting to let me know in subtle and not so subtle way that I am moving away from my youth. Back in my youth, my period was a mild inconvenience, yeah the cramps sucked but that’s what Advil was for! In the past year though my periods have started to consume my life, for starters these mood swings a week before my period actually begins are brutal! Just the other day, the Spousal Unit joked it was no longer I that needed a red tent but maybe he needs a getaway. Some women would find that comment sexist and get pissed but the truth is lately I get so uncontrollably ragey for several days that I want to run out of my own damn body! The unexplainable rage is scary; I call it the I don’t like anyone time of month…that is the truth. People just piss me off, their crime? They exist and that is all.

Let’s add in the fact that in the past year that once my flow starts, there is no relief until she is over. I mean really, how can you have relief when you are flowing like the Nile River? Once upon a time, a pad and tampon combined was just an extra added precaution to ensure no accidents. I am now up to super plus tampons and large pads yet in the first 36 hours of my cycle, I am soaking these bitches to completion in 2-3 hours. Yes, you read that shit correctly. Think about that for a minute…it means that if my flow starts on a day when working from the house is not an option, I live in fear of accidents.

Oh, I have talked to my health care provider, and we have discussed my options, hormonal options that might at least level out my personal river aren’t an option for numerous reasons. There were some other possibilities but thanks to that pesky factoid that I lack health insurance, most are way too cost prohibitive at this time. So for 6-7 days a month, I am a flowing river, add in the 6-7 days a month when humans annoy me, that basically means half the month now is impacted and driven by my hormones. It sounds funny but the truth is it’s anything but funny and had someone told me this shit when I was oh 30, I would have said you are fucking crazy!

I was in a meeting the other night with a gal dealing with hot flashes (she’s a bit older than me) and for all her misery, all I could think was if the hot flashes mean I at least lose the river flow, I will gladly embrace that stage of my womanly development!

Now that I have gotten down to the nitty gritty, let me ask why didn’t anyone tell us this shit? Seriously, why are women waltzing towards perimenopause so uninformed? It wasn’t until I started occasionally bringing this stuff up that I realized I was not special, that almost every women I know in my age demographic is battling some form of this peri madness. Yeah, we talk about the upside of hitting our late 30’s which is that sex is great, for many of us our drive goes up, up and away. Some weeks I joke with the Spousal Unit I need to become a cougar or some shit; everyone knows women hit their peak around this time. So yeah, that’s fucking awesome but then it’s completely blown away by this nasty shit. I mean raging sex hormones when the world is pissing you off is actually a fucked up combination. One minute you are screaming at your poor partner and the next you are like “come here and do me now!”

Ladies we have to do better, our daughters need to know that there is more than puberty and menopause. More importantly we need to talk about this stuff so that if nothing else there is comfort in knowing we are not the only ones. As for me, back to the fetal position and counting the days I am “normal” again.

PS: If you are in this age group and haven’t experienced perimenopause, you are a lucky woman and don’t tell me.

Women Talk…The sexy or not so sexy pot

One of my all-time favorite films is Pulp Fiction, I admit I am a pretty big Quentin Tarantino fan…can’t explain it. In Pulp Fiction there are a few lines by a minor character Fabienne that when I saw movie 20 years ago, didn’t really register but as I grow into a chick of a certain age, these lines totally resonate.

Fabienne: I was looking at myself in the mirror.
Butch: Uh-huh?
Fabienne: I wish I had a pot.
Butch: You were lookin’ in the mirror and you wish you had some pot?
Fabienne: A pot. A pot belly. Pot bellies are sexy.
Butch: Well you should be happy, ’cause you do.
Fabienne: Shut up, Fatso! I don’t have a pot! I have a bit of a tummy, like Madonna when she did “Lucky Star,” it’s not the same thing.
Butch: I didn’t realize there was a difference between a tummy and a pot belly.
Fabienne: The difference is huge.
Butch: You want me to have a pot?
Fabienne: No. Pot bellies make a man look either oafish, or like a gorilla. But on a woman, a pot belly is very sexy. The rest of you is normal. Normal face, normal legs, normal hips, normal ass, but with a big, perfectly round pot belly. If I had one, I’d wear a tee-shirt two sizes too small to accentuate it.
Butch: You think guys would find that attractive?
Fabienne: I don’t give a damn what men find attractive. It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.

My reality is that I have not had a totally flat belly in years, oh for years I could suck it in and voila, she was flat. But ever since my unfortunate umbilical hernia and the resulting double hernia repair surgery sometime back, it’s become clear that I and the flat belly will never know each other ever again. Even when I have lost weight and gotten down to some small number, the belly is there. She is fucking magnificent; she is a fucking pot belly!

When I am in a good mood, I revel in this belly, I marvel how I have seen her stretch to accommodate the womb and the humans it’s grown, one of whom now stands 6’4 and resides 1300 miles away at college…I think fuck, my body is powerful. Then I have those days when I am trying to find something to wear and all I can think is why are you in my way? Since apparently no one other than the makers of maternity wear assume that woman can ever have a pot belly. Never mind that men’s clothes seem to allow for a little man girth around the middle, so a guy can have a little pooch and still look sexy as hell but with women’s clothes we either appear pregnant or everyone knows we have the belly.
Yesterday was such a day for me, as someone I know through work decided to ask that nosy question, and I had to let him know, sorry I am not expecting. Mind you the guy doing the asking had a pooch; maybe I should have asked him when he was due.

Part of making peace with myself is learning to love me in all my stages and shapes and that means trying to accept the body I currently reside in, but I have to be honest, it’s rocky at present. I have been forcing my midsection into various pieces of containment devices, Spanx, hell I even put on a girdle contraption the other day to force my lovely pot into submission. When will I learn?

Yet it hit me last night, that for many women once we sail past 35, start creeping towards 40 or dash past 40, that are bodies settle much like our minds. Some of us are graced with lithe dancer/runner bodies that can give birth to 4-5 kids and still deflate back down, but many of us don’t have it that way. Shit, it’s why almost every woman I know owns at least one piece of Spanx.

I am starting to think as women we need a movement to make the belly sexy, demand that clothing designers allow for some girth around our middles. Since as I have learned going up a size in clothes rarely helps since then then the top is literally falling off my shoulders. Big asses are sexy, so I say let’s make potbellies sexy!

Today’s post is part of an occasional series I want to do on women’s stuff, I am toying with the idea of maybe even talking about issues of sexuality that affect women, the good, the bad and the in between but wondering how regular readers may take it. Feedback and thoughts would be appreciated.