I can relate to Alice in Wonderland.

160127_Alice in Wonderland

 

This is me right now.

I have no idea why I am eating like I am – and I am at that point where I am really HATING my body.

I need to get my shit together ….. I am just feeling so unmotivated to change anything, but at the same time desperately want everything to change.

Fuck being fat!

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Illusions of the body … and ceiling to floor mirrors

I know that at some point everyone comments on body image, what the media presents to us, and what we as women expect/demand from ourselves in terms of how our bodies are, and appear.  And usually how out of whack our self images are with what the reality is.

No doubt I am not going to add anything unique to this discussion.  But I like to put things down that are running around in my head.  It helps me “park” my thoughts and if my thoughts are here, then they are less likely to run around on the hamster wheel in my head.

I have noticed that there is a lot of Facebook status updates with people tackling weight loss, and programmes.  Sleek Geek has proved very popular and is popping up all over my time line.

People are really into starting a weight loss programme.  I am guessing that was pretty high on 2014 resolution list.  Mine, not so much.  I ate two slabs of chocolate single-handedly this week.

I can honestly say that I have a fairly unhealthy relationship with my body.

I really hate what I see.  Not a little, but a great deal.

Unfortunately it does not help that in the bathroom, right next to the porcelain throne, there is a head to foot mirror.  Not quite sure what the people who put it in were thinking.

It unfortunately gives me a really good view of myself taking a morning squat – and my guess is, that it is not the best time to look at yourself under any conditions. Ever.  Unless you are into that sort of that look.

I can’t blame the mirror.  It is not the mirror’s fault for what I see, and my reaction to what I see.

I would like to blame my present weight and how unattractive I feel, but again, that would be an excuse. I disliked my body when I weighed 55 kilograms  (I am 1.73 metres tall).

I hated my body when I weighed 65 kilograms.

And I loath my body now that I am tipping the scales at 75 kilograms.

I have read dozens of articles that tell me how great my body is.  It produced and carried three healthy kids to term.  It gets me through each day without falling over too much.

I know that if I looked at the “bigger picture” I am probably fine.

That is sort of the issue with body image.  You can never see the “bigger picture” because you are focused on the minutiae of your stuff, and everything about what you see in the mirror is a point of loathing.

Right now my plan is to always wear denims, and a black shirt that hangs over the waistband, then I just pray that nothing causes my shirt to flip up.

Today I was collecting the kids – and a mom walked past me in the parking lot. I know her, her daughter is in the same grade as Connor.  She has always had a nice figure, and she was wearing this black dress, and heels, and really just looked great.

Immediately I thought to myself “If I looked like that I would really be happy…” and then I realised I probably wouldn’t be.

I would probably still hate the way I looked, and still hide it behind poorly fitting clothing and uneasiness.

I have also had those moments of deep introspection when I have realised that I would KILL to look like I did at 15, or 20 or 25, or 30 – but the reality is that I did look like that, and at the time I still hated my body when I was 15, 20, 25 or 30.

I never wear shorts. I cringe at short sleeve shirts, and pick them with care.  I never wear shirts that fit too snugly.

Maybe in time, maybe with more self-confidence, maybe with more care I will view myself differently.

Maybe.  My guess is not likely, unless I go through a serious shift in my attitude and my view on myself, which if you would consider the present situation is unlikely.

I saw this great photographer – GRACIE HAGEN – who has a wonderful project on her website called Illusions of the Body.  She is looking at the way someone presents their body and how this changes how their body appears, and affects what we see, what we are jealous of and what we desire.

Imagery in the media is an illusion built upon lighting, angles & photoshop. People can look extremely attractive under the right circumstances & two seconds later transform into something completely different.

Please visit her site and view her work – it may not change the way you see everything, but it may give you a few moments of thought provoking thinking.

This is one of the images from her series ….. which shows what almost appears to be two different people, based on how she is presenting herself, and how this affects how we view her.  Quite incredible!!

10090355395_7c0ff88f1c_b

Image source Grace Hagen based in Chicago  : http://www.graciehagen.com/lllusions-of-the-body/

Breast Cancer Awareness …. awareness is not enough …

So it is October, and it appears to be Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

I think that is great – its a relevant subject and more awareness can’t hurt, right?

Okay, so I am aware of Breast Cancer – so now what?  I can join a Facebook group and update my status profile picture, but really what does that do?

The call to action here should be “Get your arse off the couch, and make an appointment and get that frkn mammogram you have been promising to get and never got!  Go now!”

However I find that does not translate well into a tag line or slogan.

I suggest if you are reading this you pick up the phone and give your local hospital a call, ask to speak to the X-Ray Department and make an appointment for a mammogram.

The test takes about 15 – 30 minutes (assuming you have the benefit of private hospital care) and is somewhat uncomfortable, but hardly as uncomfortable as a pap smear.

Medical Aid covers it (again if you have it) but no doubt you can book it at a public hospital as well.

Once done, you get to skip off and know that you have done a bit more than “be aware” you have got your sh&t together and got a test. Or you are aware that there is an “area of concern” that needs some attention.

Either way, at least you are being an active participant with your breasts, your life and your health.

My challenge today is to knock this message through to 5 bloggers, they in turn get tested – and then knock this on to 5 bloggers they know.

If they have been tested in the last two years they pass it on, as awareness (and hopefully get-off-your-arse-motivation to other bloggers, and readers alike!)

It is like a chain-mail but without the benefit of a promise of a large dollar pay-out, or a veiled threat at the end.  It is what it is – get the test, nothing more, nothing less.

You do get a cool x-ray of your boobies that you can look at, which is almost as good.

The 5 Bloggers I nominate to pick up this challenge are (in no particular order):

Sharon at I believe in Miracles

Laura at Harassed Mom.

Natasha at Raising Men.

Margot at Jou Ma se Blerrie Blog.

Wenchy at The Noctural Wenchy.

Questions (you can answer if you feel like it):

When did you have your first mammogram?  November 2010

Does anyone in your family suffer from cancer?  No, not that I know of.  My mom had a sprinkling of cancer on her skin, but it appeared to be related to sun damage.  I do pop down to a dermatologist once a year, and do drag myself kicking and screaming to a pap smear once a year.

Why have you not gone for a mammogram? I initially ignored all warnings, and figured it ‘would never happen to me” then I listened to a radio interview on CapeTalk and the presenter was interviewing a woman who went from ‘having no breast cancer’ to a full mastectomy within 6 weeks, that is how fast her cancer spread – and she was not even 30!  I poo’d in my pants a bit that day and made an appointment, pronto.

What were your mammogram results?  I had an x-ray which was free from any issues, and then I had a sonar scan, just because I wanted one – and then after a little rub and push from a doctor, was told all is fine and I should come back in two years.  Of course you never know if they have missed something, or something might appear within the two year window …. insert paranoid face here …… I know I should be doing self-examination as well …..

How bad is “going for a mammogram” on a scale of 1 to 10?  Probably around a 2, I’d rather do a mammogram exam than go to the dentist or have a pap smear.

When is your next appointment? I will make it for mid-2012, as the doctor suggested I not do it under two years (he might have said five, but I am sticking to two.)

Do you know anyone who has had breast cancer?  No, I don’t think I do. Unless I do, and they have not told me.

What is my point?  Maybe by bloggers talking about breast cancer and going for mammograms we can encourage other bloggers to make an appointment and readers as well ….. just maybe.

Acknowledge source of image  – David Jay Photography – and huge props to : http://www.thescarproject.org/

Wear Your Heart on your Stomach …love the idea ….

I thought more about the post yesterday after it was posted than before I pushed “publish.”

Partly due to some of the comments I received, and this link that Jess and Julz sent on to me.

It got me thinking, I’d love to have a good photo of me and my scar so that I can look at it and think of it fondly rather than in distress like I do at the moment.

I think of it as ugly and want it to go away – but I love the idea that we look at it as “wearing our hearts on our stomachs.”

Really love that concept.  I had a little mind paradigm shift there.

I would love to do some black and white photos of c-section scars or birth scars.

I would like to get a few moms into a studio and take some studio pics that they can have and also I can have in a gallery.

I think it would be even better to wait for better weather and do it outside in a private garden.

I am not 100% clear in my head of how to do them yet.  I figure I can work it out.  I want it to be something you would keep and cherish, rather than hide in the back of your underwear drawer.

If you are in Cape Town, feel like getting na.k.ed or partly clad in a studio or outdoors – and want to do this drop me a note.  My email address is along the side bar, or leave a comment and I will contact you.

I am thinking if I have 3 – 5 woman, I can rent a studio for 2 – 3 hours, if the ladies are keen to chip in to cover the cost of the studio, I will sort out the rest.

We can do wine and photography — I find that is not always the worst combination.

Drop me a note if you are interested in the idea.

If you do not want to do it with anyone else, drop me a note and we can see what we can do.

Or if you have a suggestion to improve on this idea.  I am not sure when I will do it, but it is running around in my head.

Here is Georgia’s birth on 20 June 2005 – first cut and final dab …. look away if you are squeamish …

<seriously – look away, stop scrolling ….>

Last warning.

Otherwise, have a good weekend. Happy Friday everyone!!

Viva La V.ulv.a.

Okay, so last night I sat and watched a DVD called Viva La V.ulv.a. 

I really do not make this stuff up –  sometimes I wish I did, but not this time.

It is a DVD made by a sex educator Betty Dodson.   I had never heard of her until last week, so it was all big news to me. 

When you look at Betty Dodson, it is a bit like taking couple and sex advise from Betty White from the Golden Girls – actually it is exactly like that.  She is sweet, rather maternal and touching on eighty-two at this point and still continues to educate women about women.

To quote – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Betty_Dodson

Betty Dodson, Ph.D. (born August 24, 1929) is an American sex educator, author, and artist. Dodson held the first one-woman show of erotic art at the Wickersham Gallery in New York City in 1968. She left the art world to teach sex to women. She is widely known as a pioneer in women’s, and to a somewhat lesser extent men’s, sexual liberation, having sold more than 1 million copies of her first book, Sex for One.  Much of her fame has come from her work not only advocating ma.stur.ba.tion, but conducting workshops for more than 30 years in which groups of about 10 or more women (and at least once a group of men) would talk, explore their own bodies, and mas.tu.rba.te together. “

This particular DVD was just that – 10 women who sit around and discuss their v.ulv.as.    No really that is what it is.  It is not p.orn movie, though you would be totally correct in assuming it might appear that way.  It is more of looking at your “nether regions” in a biology way, with the aid of your rather eccentric but rather liberal grandmother.

When I thought that I couldn’t cringe anymore – and I cringed plenty – they all sat around with very large mirrors and bright lights, and spent some time examining their vu.lva.s. 

All in the same room.  At the same time.  And no one was giggling hysterically.  And no one was drinking wine!

So each woman gets the mirror and the light and sits splayed, while everyone examines her v.ulv.a, at the same time as Betty and the other 9 woman have a look see.  It’s a bit of a show and tell really.

So woman A is pulling herself open and everyone is having a look, and this is while Betty is using an ear bud (and no gloves I noticed) to point and probe various areas and everyone is going “oooohhhh” and “aaahhhhh” and saying words like “it is so pretty” and “wow that is cute…” and various other things I can’t actually put here.

I have realized a few things in the last two weeks, and that is that my “sexual script” appears to have been written by Swedish Religious Missionaries circa 1821!  I cannot believe how cloistered and how absolutely narrow my map of the world is – this DVD freaked me out – totally!

And then I got freaked out that I was freaked out by.

I really did not want to watch it, but felt I should – actually I “felt I had to” – I am doing a 7 week workshop and body awareness is one of the issues that is covered. 

When this DVD was handed out I started to get that vague nauseous feeling of dread and horror.

But I watched it.

Many things happened for me while watching this video.

First I had to take my hands away from my face, because that is how I was hiding my eyes, so I actually would not have to see what was happening on the screen.

Then I also got to look at 10 woman’s v.ulv.as in a non-playboy or hustler sort of way. 

It was not a case of them being explicit so that some horny hairy and overweight 55-year-old man could have a look see and a drool – but rather than these women as individuals and as a group could look at their v.ulv.as, and maybe have some understanding and appreciation of how they work – often for the first time. 

They were women all looking at a part of their own body they probably had not looked at before.   Most of them hadn’t – and my guess is that most of the women reading this blog haven’t either.

It was the equivalent of sitting around a table and everyone examining each other’s hands and commenting on nails and the lines, without it being this huge “embarrassing” thing or people squealing.

I think the DVD went on for about 30 minutes. 

The beginning was a bit excruciating for me. I think at the end of the day, when all is said and done, I am actually a bit of a prude.  Betty also used the c-word, but not in a cringe sort of way – though I did cringe, I might have even recoiled.  She uses it freely and in an affectionate way – which is not normally how one would think the c-word would be used.  See I can’t even use the c-word here …….

The realization I was that for one, I have never looked at myself. (I am not quite rushing out to buy a miror or a desk lamp, so let’s all calm ourselves down)

My wax lady and my OGBYN have had more of a look at me than me.  I prefer to avert my eyes in a rather Victorian-lady sort of way.  And that appears is the norm, among woman/girls I have asked.

And why?

Because I have always been taught – I have no idea by whom – that girly bits must always be kept covered.  

Good girls do not look at themselves, let alone admit to touching themselves. 

There is this message that “down there” is dirty and unsanitary and well pretty much off-limits.  And that in turn is what we teach our daughters.

Ever smacked your child’s hand away when she puts her hand on her v.ulv.a? I have!

Then whilst I sat and cringed – I was screwing up my face in horror – watching this DVD, I realized that I had done myself an injustice, and if I was not careful I would be doing the same thing to my daughters.

To raise my daughters and give them the stereotype behavior that I have lived with and force them to think of a part of their body as “dirty” or “shameful” is really a reflection on what I am teaching them, and really what does that do for them moving forward.

Make them hate a part of their body, make them ashamed?

Most women and men – do not understand how women work.  How our mechanics are designed – good grief I recall sitting in my OGBYN’s office while he did a drawing for me – and it was my third child.  Yes I understand the rudimentary mechanics, but I really do not know how I work. 

And for some reason I think that is okay.  However with my recent DVD purchase I am wondering, is it okay?

Listen I have not quite got my head around this – and to be honest I feel a bit punch drunk today after watching the DVD.

I do feel however that there has been some sort of switch.   

Not a direct “on/off” switch that went off in my brain last night, but definitely an awareness that maybe I have got this all terribly wrong, and maybe Golden Girl Betty Dobson is on to something here (please bear in mind this DVD is easily 20 years old, so not only is she on to something, but good grief  I have severely been left behind on this one).

I might not be quite ready to burst into song about Viva La V.ulv.a, but maybe my brain has started to think just a little differently ….. just maybe….. just a little.

And the hits just keep coming …..

I have a very simple theory to prevent yourself being pummelled to death with a doughnut.  It has worked well for me over the years, and I am about to impart it to you ….. so prepare yourself.

It goes like this: “Never EVER ask if someone is pregnant, or when they are due.  Unless YOU HAVE SEEN a fetal baby scan photo that the person has shown you in the last hour.  Alternatively if you have actually seen a head crowning between that woman’s legs.  I personally think the head crowning is a much safer measure”

Those are the only sure fire indicators that a woman might/may well be pregnant – and unless you see one, either or both of these indicators, NEVER ASK IF SOMEONE IS PREGNANT.

Just don’t.

The problem is if you ask, and the answer is no, well then you are screwed.  There is actually just no way to recover, and that person will hate you FOR.E.VER and E.VE.R!!

Even if they say “no it is okay, I get it all the time” it is not fine, and they will hate you and you are a chop!

I have had a few corkers in my time:-

1.  I was at Tech and first day in a lecture, put up my hand and asked the lecturer when she goes on maternity leave will there be someone filling in for her ….. she then explained to me that she was not pregnant and had a little bloating.

You know that moment when you realise that no matter what you do in a course, you are going to just not do well.

<and since then I have never asked another soul if they are pregnant – that was my moment of learning>

2.  I went to a business dinner with Kennith and some suppliers from the East a few years back – I think it was in 2007.  Dinner was going famously, until one of the guests leaned over and asked me when I was due.

The problem is that I did not quite hear her and had to ask again.  By that point, I had heard her, the entire table had heard her and so too had the parking guard out  in the parking area.   I was mortified!

And really cheesed off.  It was not because I was overweight, it was because of the shirt I chose that was clearly a bit too flowy ….. that must be it ……….that shirt found it’s way to the dustbin pronto.

3.  Kennith’s cousin’s dad also asked me if I was pregnant and I think that was around 2008.  He is a small man and at the time was lying on a low couch watching television – I used the excuse that his perceptive of vanishing points was all wonky, because he was lying down.

Of course I did want to kick him in the nuts as well, but I didn’t – he is sort of loosely family!

4.  Then my latest and greatest was we were in Johannesburg last month and on the Gautrain on our way to the stadium for the U2 concert.  Train was pretty full, and a guy offered me his seat.

I thought nice guy – well he did not offer me his seat as much as he offered to scoot over and sit really close to his mate and make space for me.  I thought it was my charming personality and the slight sway I had in my step from the bottle and a half of wine at lunch.

So I thanked him for his manners and queried why he was kind enough to offer a space to me and not to the other girls on the train ….. he said something about ‘someone in your condition’….and I thought ‘well, yes I have been drinking, but it is not like I have to drive the train…..’ and then the penny dropped.   I think the penny did not drop as much as I heard Kennith giggling …… and then the penny sort of echo’d into the tin that is my brain.

Someone with more principles would have kneed him in the scrotum and stumbled off all offended, but I accepted I had a seat …. and proceeded to really think about my waistline a bit and whether I really should have eaten that full portion of ribs for lunch ……

Anyway, so all in all, I am not exactly riding the wave of good vibes right now ….. I do really think that I am going to have a total sense of humour failure quite soon what with my age and my pregnancy and all.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair ….

I have mentioned before that I have some strong genetic links to a hobbit. I have little tufts of hair on my fingers, my toes and other parts of my body that are best not mentioned.

I also hate shaving, not just a bit, but really a lot.  I just do not have the time.  The odds of me in a leisurely shower taking time to shave is pretty much non-existent, I can count the times on my one hand when I have had a bath alone in the last two months, so shaving is an event in my house.

Part of the reason that I really do not make the time, is that it a pointless exercise for me.  If I shave now, by tomorrow morning I will have stubble, and by tomorrow evening full 5 o’clock shadow across my legs and other regions.

I cannot quite express how bad the situation is, without showing you pictures – and even I realise in doing that will be crossing a line that neither of us will be able to return from.

Though the hair on my head if reasonably light, the hair on my body has a distinct Mediterranean feel about it.  The only redeeming characteristic is that I do not have hair on my back.  One sometimes has to be reminded of the small things to be thankful for.

To cut a long story short, I am over the idea of shaving, and have opted out of it for a bit now.

It does nothing for me and actually just wastes my time. I have chosen to live a non-shaved life for about a month plus.  It has had limits on my wardrobe and I live in fear of being involved in some sort of traffic accident and them taking me to hospital, while I am unconscious.

At least if I was conscious I would be able to explain why my bikini area looks the way it does, but lying there immobile, is not going to do me any favours and I know there will be photos on YouTube with captions.

Once the hair situation gets to a certain level, you really do start caring less, because it just is so ridiculous and you realise the time it is going to take to shave through the forest you have cultivated.

I went for a run/stumble last night.  Kennith asked me if I experienced much wind resistance as he looked at the mountain gorilla hair on my legs.  My leg hair was sort of curling over my socks – even with my rather low standards, I realise that is not something that should be allowed.

I was hoping to just stop caring, but I am not quite there yet – so all is not lost quite yet.

I have an appointment with Vera for tomorrow morning at 7am.  So while you are snuggly wrapped up in your duvet, or having your first bowel movement of the morning, think of me as Vera stands and pours hot wax on my nether regions and pulls it out.  Hair, roots and all, with all her might.

My friend Alice has been trying to convince me to have a Brazilian (the wax, rather than a person who was birthed in Brazil) and have Vera do it.  Alice suggested taking two Syndols and I would not feel anything.  I am sure even after two Syndols I will feel someone taking the hair by the roots outta my crack, unless Syndols have got really good lately.  But with that in mind, I will stop and grab a crate after fetching kids from school this afternoon.

I got strangely suspicious of Vera as she appeared to get more excited the more I explained how much hair I have.  But I made the appointment and there we are – I am already getting all nervous.  I know there is going to be crying and screaming.

I can’t promise you before and after photos – though I am tempted to do them.  I might not even blog tomorrow as I may need to be hospitalized for trauma, but that is what I have planned for 7am tomorrow morning.

What have you got on?

Marrying a Yeti …

Kennith is embarrassed that I am telling people that I am hairy like a Yeti.  He really thinks that sort of information should be kept more private.

He is probably right.

I really wish he did not refer to me as a Yeti, as now I feel even more embarrassed about my hair issue!

Shape of a Mother ….

I found this great website called the Shape of a Mother.  It’s my private little addiction.  I pop along to this site and read the blog updates and look at the images.

The idea of it is that the author/owner of the blog noticed a mom with a babe, and when the mom’s shirt lifted by accident she realized this very healthy and toned looking mom also was sitting with extra skin hanging around her belly.  Yes, I realise it could also have been me – you probably thought the same thing.

The blog owner had this epiphany that the post-pregnancy body has become one of our society’s greatest secrets.

What we are exposed to is the female form airbrushed perfectly.  I used to work for the company that did the pre-press work on Shape, Fit Pregnancy and Swimsuit Magazine – all those girls were airbrushed to an inch of her life.

I would have loved to nab the pre-air-brushed photos and smuggle them out there for the world to see.  I am not denying that the models are beautiful and can really fill out a swimsuit, but you must know they have pimples, and stretch marks and cellulite and marks under their arms like no one’s business.

If you look at yourself in the mirror and it differs from these images that we are bombarded with all day – you tend to opt to wear a bigger shirt, start layering a little more, and hide your body as much as you can. Well that is what I do at any rate.

We talk openly about our sagging or flattened boobs, our wobbly thighs, our expanses of cellulite, our hanging tums and our stretch marks, but god-forbid anyone sees them.

So this very clever woman created this excellent website where women of all ages, shapes, sizes and nationalities can share images of their bodies so it will no longer be secret.   Almost like a blog, but populated by visitors.

To quote directly from her website: “So we can finally see what women really look like sans airbrushes and plastic surgery.

I think it would be nothing short of amazing if a few of our hearts are healed, or if we begin to cherish our new bodies which have done so much for the human race. What if the next generation grows up knowing how normal our bodies are? How truly awesome would that be?”

http://theshapeofamother.com/ even has categories marked Belly, Breasts, Cesareans, Child Loss, Infertility, Inspirational, Plus-Sized, Postpartum, Pregnant, Twins, Triplets and VBAC.

It really is a wonderful website and the women are real, and we recognize these bodies as our own.  Women write in honest terms about how their bodies have changed, and the photos are taken sans great lighting and often without good photographic techniques, so it is real flab, butt-cracks and cellulite.

While I celebrate these women, and nod along to all the comments, I can barely look at myself in the bathroom mirror when I get undressed to shower or bath.

When I sit in the bath with Isabelle, I feel ill that my stomach sort of rolls over and rests itself on my upper thigh while I play with her.

Last night I looked down at my c-section scar and got a bit of a fright as it looked big and really red and ugly –  but I was drinking a glass of wine, and there was a candle, so the lighting and my perception was a bit off.  But I had this immediate feeling of revulsion and sat up in a panic to re-examine it.  It was still a scar, still red, yugh, but maybe not totally revolting, okay well maybe just mildly so.

I used to be okay with my body – I was not out there pole dancing or anything, but I would put on a costume when it was hot, and go for a swim.   I would not scream “look at me, look at me” but I could get myself in a swimsuit and a pair or shorts when the weather demanded it.

Now I crinch at the thought of pouring myself into my swimsuit, even when at home just with Kennith and the kids.  It is not about them seeing me, it is about me seeing me.

I hide from myself.  I dress and undress quickly, so I do not have to witness the white blubbery me. I hate the fact that I used to weight 50kg, and used to hate being skinny.  Now I would drink 5 days of gloop a day, and 7 tons of laxatives to get back to 50kg.

My body is different and I really do not like it.

I know I should be thankful that this body has been good to me.  It is seldom sick, it can stand up to quite a bit.  It carried three healthy children through three healthy pregnancies.  It was strong enough to get through three c-sections, it healed well, and did not let me stay in too much pain.

It let me breastfeed without any problems.  When I did not want to breastfeed it made the milk just go away.  It let me get through bouts of depression without totally giving out on me.  My skin has stretched to make room for these children and the growing me, and it has done it with eloquence and grace, and done me the favour of doing it without one stretch mark (I know, I am shocked too).

I should laud it and praise it, instead I despise it.

I am embarrassed.

I am angry.

I am scared that this is now who I am.  What I see in the mirror does not match who I see in my head.

I have contributed to it’s demise.  It did not get here without the help of a several bowls of delicious pasta, bags of divine Woolworths Chuckles and several litres of wonderful wine.  I am the reason this body is the way it is, and that makes me very angry.

I huff and puff my way through boot camp and hate being there.  Every gasp and gag is fueled by anger.  I do not want to be this fat, cellulite, scarred person – I want to be svelt and 20 years old (but I would like to keep my mature mind …)

There I am flicking through these images of women being real on shape of a mother, and still I am hiding behind my baggy black shirt.  Why does this bother me more today than it did yesterday?

Today I am trying on wedding dresses in front of strangers.  That means my body is going to be on display – as you cannot get into these dresses without help.  That means I am going to be trying to corset myself up into a dress that is going to make my fat roll over the top and my hips putting a bit of strain on the stitching.

Another day, in another place, I can post about who I love my body, or even like it – but not today.

Of motivation and mantras….

I really do not enjoy going to Adventure Boot Camp.  I really can’t even fake interest – Kennith can vouch for that.

But I drag myself literally kicking and whining to boot camp at least three times a week. Okay, sometimes only twice.

I was busy driving there last night and wondered to myself how I could explain to anyone how I – the most unmotivated person with regards to exercise – stays motivated enough to go to ABC, when I really do not enjoy it.  Then it came to me – like a little high pitched voice out of the darkness.

Georgia!

It happened like this.

I am lying semi-asleep on my left side, with the duvet sort of pulled haphazardly over my body.  I have a nightshirt on that has ridden up a bit – as does tend to happen as one sleeps.  I am not trying to start a cheap sex blog here, I am merely trying to assist you to picture the scene from the safety of your home.

So there I am lying, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep.  I know the kids are moving around the house.  I really do not know why people think there is a pitter-patter of little feet in a house with kids, it is a more like the sound of a stampede 0f wildebeest.  Any-the-how, I digress.

So there I lie, with just the right amount of saliva dribbling out of the corner of my mouth.  <Too much and it wets the pillow and wakes you up, just enough moistens your lips so they do not go all dry and crispy when you first yawn.>

I hear the distinct whisper of Georgia standing behind me.

Georgia: “Hello mommy” <I can hear her smiling – she is such a happy little thing.>

Me – substituting until real mommy arrives: “Hello my love ….”

Georgia: “Are you sleeping mommy?”

Me: “Not so much sweetie…”

Georgia: “Mommy when I am big, will I be as big as you?”

Me: “errr, I think so sweetie, you are already such a big girl …… please go and watch tv with your brother like a big girl.”

Georgia: ” Mommy…”

Me: “Yes Georgia bear….”

Georgia: “When I am big, will I have a big bum like you?”

And  now I have a mantra forAdventure Boot Camp …