Tori is at that age; the age when a toddler climbs up onto her mom and cuddles up on her mommy's lap. Only there's one problem:
I don't have a lap.
I've always carried my weight in my belly. Technically, I'm more pear than apple, however, twenty five years of weight swings (some topping 150 pounds), two pregnancies, and that bastard gravity has left me with a large flap of belly fat. When I sit, I look pregnant. Only about ten inches of my thighs is available for Tori's squirmy little butt.
If I was wealthy, I would go--tomorrow--to every single plastic surgeon I could find until I could talk one into removing that belly flap. I would like nothing better (OK, maybe a pro-choice, pro-gay-marriage, pro-environmental democrat in the White House) than having a normal-sized belly. Even if every other part of me has to stay fat.
I have made no progress in the battle to lose weight since Tori's birth. I spent a brief period counting points, and another period giving up certain foods for both dietary and migraine-fighting reasons, but I haven't maintained the change. Other than the initial 40 pound loss after her birth, I'm the same weight I was when I got pregnant with her, and that is more than I want to weigh.
The truth is, I do not want to diet. For a million reasons, but the main one? Because it doesn't fucking work. Not permanently, anyway. Never permanently. The weight always finds me, and it's found almost every single friend of mine that's lost it.
I spend a fair amount of time reading fat acceptance blogs. They are quite fascinating; they often point out research that shows that being fat is not the death sentence the media makes it out to be, and that folks that are fat can be healthy, fit, and active. They also teach me a great deal about trying to learn to love and trust your body, and help me retain a rational attitude about fatness in the face of a media that is screaming at me--constantly and at full volume--that I am an ugly loser that is about to die. (For an example of the good fat acceptance can do, check out Kate Harding's Illustrated BMI photo project--view it as a slide show for full effect).
But I can't find a way to just accept my body as it is. I always place conditions. "Body," I say, "I'll love you when I lose 100 pounds." Or, "I'll love you when I have a flat belly." Or, "I'll love you when you get back in shape."
For many years I was able to maintain a positive attitude about my body because I knew I was fit. But you know what? That was over THREE FUCKING YEARS AGO. I am not the same woman that hiked every weekend. I'm older, I'm more fat, and I'm more goddamn tired. My body is not being treated well by me and it shows.
The problem is, I don't know what to do. Here are the various ideas I have, in no particular order:
- Win the lottery so I can hire a private chef and a trainer.
- Never eat out again.
- Never eat sugar or flour again (I did this for two years--it worked, but I was NUTS)
- Go on some magic combination of pills that prevents me from wanting to eat. Ever.
- Win lottery and get the fat all surgically removed.
Note that nowhere on that list is "begin eating more healthily, and start exercising." I am so fucking exhausted with picking my fat ass up by the flabby handles and changing my whole fucking life to lose weight for a few months or, possibly, even a year or two. IT. NEVER. LASTS.
Some of you are probably already heading down to the comments section to suggest gastric bypass surgery. Sure, it's an option. I'm sure I could get my insurance to cover it. I know it has worked for some people--that many feel it was just the miracle they needed. But it's not for me; to me it feels like self mutilation (please forgive me, bypass supporters--I mean no judgment).
There is nothing wrong with how my body digests food. There is no need for me to undergo a surgical operation to correct it.
Honestly? I'd be more likely to consider electric shock therapy. The problem is not in my body, folks. It's in my brain.
I am not radically altering the way my body functions to be thin (note: I do see the irony that I would pursue plastic surgery but not gastric bypass. I do have my reasons--plastic surgery is a on the surface, and doesn't radically change how your body processes food, so it seems slightly less invasive. Plus, I'm kidding about getting plastic surgery--mostly). Truthfully, I don't have enough of a reason to go that route yet. My cholesterol is awesome, my blood pressure low, my blood sugar is normal. I have no physical barriers to exercise. A surgical solution is not for me, not right now (fat hysteria people are all now shouting, NOT YET! Because fat people are ticking time bombs, just ask any media anything anywhere and a lot of doctors that read studies funded by the billion dollar diet industry--one of the only industries that makes a ton of money yet has a 95% failure rate. Ahem.).
I'm not going to fill this post with empty promises, as I've done so many times before. I am tired of making resolutions and making changes. Instead, I'm going to only try one tiny trick (learned again from Kate Harding) called "demand feeding" (she explains it well here). I am not going to restrict anything, but I am going to try to develop the habit of listening to my body to see what I'm actually hungry for (I did this on Saturday and ended up at Mickey D's instead of its rival because I knew they had a better salad--but I still had fries. Eh, it's an improvement). I am going to try for feeling better, instead of looking better.
Now that the weather is changing (sort of) to cooler temperatures, exercise is more likely. We went hiking on Saturday (Tori walked almost a mile, we think, between turns in the backpack), and I hope to do that again sometime this week. But no pressure. Pressuring myself, beating myself up, all that shit--it gets me nowhere, just back to fatness, with even more self hatred.
I don't know if I'll ever find my lap for Tori. We've found plenty of ways to cuddle around my big belly (she's fond of resting her head on a boob), so I don't think she'll love me any less for not having it. But if you meet some plastic surgeon that wants to do a free tummy tuck? Well, feel free to give him my number.*
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Many of you may have read Patty's comment to my last post. Patty's husband died in his sleep on Monday; he was 37, and they don't know why. She has two boys, a three-year-old and a six-week-old (six! weeks!). You can read more about her husband here. He sounds like an amazing man, and I'm so sorry I never got a chance to know him. Please keep her in your prayers, will you?
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On a slightly more cheerful note, here are some awesome photos of Tori at the park (here is the full set if you want to see a million more).
*Please, for the love of God, do not post links here about how being fat is going to kill me. Do not link to obesity studies. If you do, I will never, EVER, post photos of Tori again. I swear. You think I don't hear the news about being fat? Come on. I live in the US. I own a television. I do not need to hear it again from you. Thank you.
