Numbers

 *Girly, crazy body-image, life after babies, post. Beware.

I got to see a number on the scale today that I haven’t seen for seven years. Sadly, the experience was mostly a letdown.

“WAHOO! ROCK ON!!! I did it. IeeeIee did It!!! Oooooh. Wait. Huh? Well, that’s strange. I still look…and it’s...still—saggy." *sigh*

I’ve imagined how I’d feel to see my, “pre-baby” weight, since I had Jack.  The funny thing is, I thought that when I got to see that NUMBER—I’d also get to see that BODY. But as I excitedly ran to the mirror to fully realize what that number looked like in person…it was nothing as I had hoped! Even though I feel pretty lucky to have carried four children and earned minimal stretch marks; there were other battle wounds.

The belly button that was lost in folds of soft white pasty dough, falling in on itself, and glaring grumpily back at me. "Yeah? So what?" It snarled. The five small scars from the gallbladder/endometriosis surgery. They said, "Hey, at least you're off the Vicodin." The self-inflicted navel piercing that was so short lived—it wasn’t worth the $50 dollar thrill. It said, "Youth is wasted on the young!" There was the ridiculous amount of s-t-r-e-t-c-h, and the gentle pooch that was slightly bigger on the right than the left. After all, that’s where Grant hung out—during my whole pregnancy. Forget moving around. That kid stayed put! And…then there was the top. Those roes weren't feeding among the lilies anymore! Oh, Song of Solomon. You mock my pain! Sustaining children for 6 years (72 months total) would wear any hardworking machine out. I won’t hurt your brain with the graphic details of those poor suckers. Let’s only say that all the silly analogies are really true. And, I’m earning all A’s in that department—no more B’s. Sometimes getting smaller ain’t more fun at all.

So happiness is definitely not found in a number.  Only, it seems in fading memories. Oh, OKAY! In being content with what the good Lord has given you! And, in the knowing that I’d do it all over again to bring those four little punks into the world. Who needs itty-bitty waists and rock-solid abs anyway?  It’s not like I ever had them! Was only hoping for a mid-season rebound, ya’ know? Oh, and the gray hairs the fifth one is no doubt cranking out at this moment. I’ll happily give her those, too. Because, there are things, and lives, more important than my sad, saggy self…

But don’t think for half a second that I’m not saving up for my million dollar mommy makeover! A girl’s gotta’ dream, right?