Well, summer is almost here. Sure it seems like it rains every day and you can never trust the forecast, but we did make it to the beach one evening earlier this week. And with summer comes summer apparel. This year it also means Marc’s and my tenth anniversary trip to England, which I had made a promise to look smokin’-hot for.
Of course every year I make a promise to work hard and look better by summer. This year I’ve done the most I’ve ever done. I did The 30 Day Shred fairly regularly. But, honestly, I am exhausted so often and have been sick so much, and even if I’m on the mend from those things I get light-headed so easily, that it’s been hard to exercise. And then at some point it feels like I’m not getting anywhere.
Marc ran across my measurements chart that I’ve kept since January and he gently and tenderly asked if I felt bad because my measurements hadn’t changed very much. I said I wasn’t really (especially since I know from doing the exercises that I’ve gotten stronger). And I’m not really too frustrated. Except when I think about how I wanted to look this summer and how I won’t look this summer, and how it is so obvious in pictures taken of me now that I am bigger and smooshier than I used to be. I used to complain about being smooshy. I guess I shouldn’t have. Because more smooshiness comes far too easily. So tonight I’m feeling exceptionally bad about the smooshiness.
But the other night when I looked at my measurements, I compared them to when I was in grade 12 (thirteen years ago). I had almost “perfect” measurements back then, the only difference was my bust was 2″ smaller than the ideal. And if I compare my body to that of my 18 year old 115lb self, my measurements aren’t too different. My bust and hips are 2-3″ bigger, but my waist is 5″ bigger. Of course the weight is significantly higher, because I was pretty badly underweight back then. (Gotta love that teenage metabolism: eating at McDonald’s three times a week and not gaining a thing.) And, thankfully, I didn’t measure my arms and thighs back then, because I imagine that those are the places where the extra weight has gone. But really, considering it’s been thirteen years, three kids, and six straight years of being pregnant or nursing, I’ve done pretty well. (Oh, and don’t get me started on the pill. The blasted pill! Which has made me think I’m pregnant for the past 10 years, except for the times that I actually WAS pregnant, which meant that I WAS pregnant and didn’t need my body to be chemically told to store all of that extra smooshy goodness that one does when one is pregnant or tricked into thinking its pregnant.)
Plus I’m trying to balance life these days. I’m really enjoying cooking and baking. And I don’t use food (specifically poutine) to make me feel better after a bad day. So I’ve got that in balance. I’m relaxing more than I used to. I’d say my personal life, my marriage, and my role as a mom (and for the next few years as a student) are all balancing out well. But then you throw in exercising multiple times a week in order to maintain a body shape that I’m frustrated with. Well, that’s like the thing that just takes me over the edge. That makes me tired. That takes away precious, always-in-short-supply time and so doesn’t seem to be worth it.
But I guess I’ll keep going. I may not look as good as I wanted to this summer. But I shouldn’t give up all together. Otherwise the next layer of smooshiness will find me.