I'll just put it out there.
I miss being hot.
I used to be hot. OK, not Playboy-centerfold-hot, not stop-all-the-traffic-for-5-blocks-hot...but I could stop a fair number of cars in that traffic back in the day, on my best days as a young, not-fat, curly-headed brunette with a kickin' set of calves and a rack that was a fine piece of God's work if I say so myself. That story in my profile is true. Greg and I attended a winter formal dance together in 1992, and we stopped at a convenience store afterwards. Several members of the basketball team from our college were there, as well, and when I walked in, they all stopped dead in their tracks. Then they proceeded to go up to Greg, congratulate him on being with such a "fine woman" and shake his hand. Every one of them. Does that happen when the girl's a bow-wow? I think not.
But that was then, and this is now. I don't want to oversimplify, but let's just say no one has stopped us in any store lately to say anything other than "Excuse me...ma- am, sir? Here - your son dropped his binky."
To put it bluntly, the hotness has left the building. And I am sad. It sucks to be pudgy, saggy and scarred by childbirth, with wrinkles creeping in and hair falling out, with no end in sight that looks like anything that resembles the hotness that once was a possibility for me with an average amount of effort on my part.
Wait. I should clarify something. This is not a reflection of how I feel about me, on whether I love Cathy or not. I do. I like who I am, and I accept the spirit inside me that I project to the world. Cathy is just peachy keen happy with Cathy as a person. The body housing Cathy is not-so-much peachy keen any more.
What do you mean, Cathy? you ask. How bad could it be?
Well, let me break it down for you. Grab a snack if you like. Wait, maybe not.
1)Childbirth gave me stretch marks. Yes, they are a scar to remind me of what I got as a result of childbirth, and yes, I know what they represent. I am eternally grateful for my children, and would endure stretch marks all over my entire body to have my children. But they are still ugly and gross, and short of surgery there is no getting rid of them. (The stretch marks, not the kids.) I can lose all the weight in the world, and frankly that will just make them look worse. It's like trying to fix the run in your panty hose -not gonna happen.
2)The rack is now sad. Sad, sad boobies. They have NO lift of their own. The girls used to sit high and tight. Why I didn't show them off more, I have no idea. They were some fine breasts. Seriously. But breastfeeding for more than two years has done irreparable damage. Even the cleavage is not right anymore, and they cannot be coaxed by even the most determined bra to look perky or youthful anymore. Poor sad, sad boobies. And it's another thing that more weight loss will NOT help.
3)I am losing my hair. Quickly. And somehow, the better my diet is, the more hair I lose. It's slowed down substantially since I quit eating like I should. Figure THAT shit out for me. So on top of having fine, thin, basically MAN HAIR, it's now fine, thin, man hair that's thinning, too. Don't make me show you the close-ups of my scalp. Just take my word for it. The shit is f-a-l-l-i-n-g-o-u-t. Oh, wait - except for the hair everywhere ELSE on my body. That hair is going strong, thankyouverymuch, with no sign of falling out. Those hairs must be forced out, excommunicated with instruments and waxes and blades, only to grow back heartier and stronger. Maybe I should wax my head about four times.
4)My weight. It's uh, NOT where it should be. You know the rest. We've discussed it.
5)My skin. This is all my fault. I am HORRIBLE about washing my face at night. It gets scrubbed every time I shower, with a lovely apricot scrub, but the day's dirt and makeup stays there until that happens, because I can count on one hand the times I have washed my face at bedtime in the last ten years. Hell, two hands would probably take care of my adult life. Just not in my routine, and for whatever reason I have never gotten in the habit. And now my face pays the price. Big pores, bigger than they ever were, that will not shrink. Little dry patches and age spots are creeping up, and little remnants of the melasma I got during my second pregnancy have stayed around as well. During the new hotness phase*, I got complements on my skin on a regular basis.
And my eyes.
And my smile, my ass, my hair and my lips. But that's another story.
There's more. Lots more. I could go on. But I think you get the picture.
Anyway, so I'm whining about it. Yes, fine, I'm whining. I know. And I know that I have legs that work and arms that work, and I can talk and read and write, and I mostly have my faculties about me. I have a house to live in, and a husband who loves me just as I am. Deb and I were talking today about embracing an attitude of gratitude, about appreciating what I have and focusing on that...and that is all coming. It will be part of what I attempt to take with me into 2009.
But it's not 2009 yet, is it? No. So back up off me for now, would'ja?
The subject for today is how Cathy used to be hot and now she's just nearly middle-aged, kind of frumpy and slightly dumpy. HUGE efforts and great expense would be needed to find a way to return to any level of the hotness that once existed in my world. The expense I cannot handle, and the effort I am working on. Meanwhile, having little other option, there is a part of me that is working very hard to embrace this middle-aged woman I am becoming, to accept her more readily than I was able to accept the much-hotter version of my younger self. Because THAT's the really sad part - that I never truly enjoyed and embraced how beautiful I was, always comparing myself to others and finding flaws where there were none. So I think it's an important part of moving toward the second half of my life, and it's a valuable thing to teach my daughter - to love her body in whatever phase of life she's in. I hope to wake up one day and find acceptance in my heart for what my body has become.
But let's don't kid ourselves. Self-aware and confident or not - being hot was WAY more fun.
*By the way, if back then was the "new hotness phase", this is the "old and busted phase". Think Men in Black II. Old and busted...new hotness.