Where did my sexy body go?
I was a fat baby. I was so fat that according to my Dad, he found crushed/suffocated dead ants in-between my arm and leg folds back then. That worries me because some say that when you were a fat baby, you'll be a fat old person as well.
Happily the layers vanished during the rest of my childhood. In fact, I was skinny, until puberty hit me. My body hated puberty. Its hatred burst out into greasy pimples and stinky body odor. It rebelled by creating a double chin, increasing the circumference of the thighs and ballooning the derriere.
It was a big relief when puberty was over, because then I could sport a well-toned and well-shaped torso. I did not mind the thighs as it seemed to complement the upper half of my body very well. I knew I had an okay body. But nobody really knew about it as I hid it well under loose t-shirts and denim pants. And being provincial, I wore clothes even when I went swimming. The most provocative clothing I allowed myself to wear were tiny shorts as I swept the Bermuda lawn of fallen leaves around my parental home.
Then I had my first physical relationship. And the (un)lucky mate sort of exclaimed in admiration at my nakedness and declared that I had a sexy body. Now that came as a shock for me. I thought I was okay, but sexy? From that day on I would compare my assets with those I see on magazine pages and came to a delicious conclusion that my first physical partner was correct in his assessment.
This positive body image started to regress after giving birth to my one and only child. Something went wrong when the doctors stitched me back together after my Caesarian Section... it was a bit lopsided judging by the fact that the linea negra on my lower belly is no longer properly aligned. Fortunately it did not retain too much stretch marks as my pregnancy was quite small, having only gained seven kilos at full term.
Not that I was horrified by it, as I was never a bikini-donning-type of girl anyway. But still, it bothered my eyes during my regular self-inspection on the full-length mirror. After having gotten used to it, it was alright and I could live with it.
For a long while I was happy with my weight, as I hardly gained any. Then I started to gain a kilo for every new year I lived. 48...49... and now 50. Did it mean that when I turn 51 I'd gain another kilo? Did it mean that when I turn 80 I'd be 80 kilos? Oh no! Is my fear turning into reality?
Due to this observation, I have gone back to my sessions on the full-length mirror, dissecting each and every part of my body. Where before I had a visible waistline, there are two visible blobs of flesh on both sides. Where before I could clearly see my mons pubis when I looked down, I could only see my somewhat smiling navel nestled on top of a mound of belly.
What have I done? Or better: what have I not done?
I have been eating well, yes. Maybe better than before. But I haven't been physically active for a long while. The comfort of having a small living space has taken its toll on my body. My escape from city living meant I hardly go window shopping anymore, which healthily entails brisk walking as I escape from tantalizing window displays.
What to do? I am currently drinking this concoction of lemon, cucumber and coriander leaves first thing in the morning and last thing at night. That seems to take the bloated feeling away. Then to hasten the process, I wrap my midsection with plastic foil for good measure. And as I watch TV, I step on my tummy twister for a mild exercise. Which reminds me... I should take note of my weight and waistline measurements so I could check my progress then I won't ever wonder anymore as to where my unsexy body is going.
Happily the layers vanished during the rest of my childhood. In fact, I was skinny, until puberty hit me. My body hated puberty. Its hatred burst out into greasy pimples and stinky body odor. It rebelled by creating a double chin, increasing the circumference of the thighs and ballooning the derriere.
It was a big relief when puberty was over, because then I could sport a well-toned and well-shaped torso. I did not mind the thighs as it seemed to complement the upper half of my body very well. I knew I had an okay body. But nobody really knew about it as I hid it well under loose t-shirts and denim pants. And being provincial, I wore clothes even when I went swimming. The most provocative clothing I allowed myself to wear were tiny shorts as I swept the Bermuda lawn of fallen leaves around my parental home.
Then I had my first physical relationship. And the (un)lucky mate sort of exclaimed in admiration at my nakedness and declared that I had a sexy body. Now that came as a shock for me. I thought I was okay, but sexy? From that day on I would compare my assets with those I see on magazine pages and came to a delicious conclusion that my first physical partner was correct in his assessment.
This positive body image started to regress after giving birth to my one and only child. Something went wrong when the doctors stitched me back together after my Caesarian Section... it was a bit lopsided judging by the fact that the linea negra on my lower belly is no longer properly aligned. Fortunately it did not retain too much stretch marks as my pregnancy was quite small, having only gained seven kilos at full term.
Not that I was horrified by it, as I was never a bikini-donning-type of girl anyway. But still, it bothered my eyes during my regular self-inspection on the full-length mirror. After having gotten used to it, it was alright and I could live with it.
For a long while I was happy with my weight, as I hardly gained any. Then I started to gain a kilo for every new year I lived. 48...49... and now 50. Did it mean that when I turn 51 I'd gain another kilo? Did it mean that when I turn 80 I'd be 80 kilos? Oh no! Is my fear turning into reality?
Due to this observation, I have gone back to my sessions on the full-length mirror, dissecting each and every part of my body. Where before I had a visible waistline, there are two visible blobs of flesh on both sides. Where before I could clearly see my mons pubis when I looked down, I could only see my somewhat smiling navel nestled on top of a mound of belly.
What have I done? Or better: what have I not done?
I have been eating well, yes. Maybe better than before. But I haven't been physically active for a long while. The comfort of having a small living space has taken its toll on my body. My escape from city living meant I hardly go window shopping anymore, which healthily entails brisk walking as I escape from tantalizing window displays.
What to do? I am currently drinking this concoction of lemon, cucumber and coriander leaves first thing in the morning and last thing at night. That seems to take the bloated feeling away. Then to hasten the process, I wrap my midsection with plastic foil for good measure. And as I watch TV, I step on my tummy twister for a mild exercise. Which reminds me... I should take note of my weight and waistline measurements so I could check my progress then I won't ever wonder anymore as to where my unsexy body is going.
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