Imperfect really is perfect



Every morning I wake up, go to the bathroom and trudge to the scales. I patiently await the numbers to see what it will tell me today:
– hey lady…that extra serving of _____ has left you with a few extras ounces/pounds
– the past weekend indulgences will take a couple days to disappear

Moving off the scale, I head to the kitchen to make a much needed cup of morning coffee.



In front of the bathroom mirror I inspect myself. I, honestly, weigh about the same (some days less) than I did before Ladybug but it is in all different places. When will this extra skin go away? Is it possible to move the excess from my thighs farther north? (if you know what I mean)
It wasn’t really until today…right at this moment… that I realized I am the way I am now because of the two amazing beings that are playing together as I type. It is because I was given the gift of motherhood that my “imperfections” really are perfections.

Now don’t mistake this for an excuse to not continue to improve my health and well being BUT I think that I just may give my exhausted scale some time off for a bit.



2 responses »

  1. Good for you! The scale is not a friend of mine, hence the reason I refuse to have one in my house. I’ve found that it is a bully and such a negative influence. I used to be addicted to it, so to speak, and realized, why be so attached to something that upset me so much. That’s one negative voice I actually do have the ability to get rid of. So I did. I’ll have to share with you more in person some time. 🙂

  2. I don’t even OWN a scale. They are not good buddies, scales. Mirrors only from the neck up. And even then… It will be interesting to see how that morning ritual feels if you try to interrupt it, since it is such a part of your everyday routine.


    I’ll bet it will be good for you if you can shove it away for a while and just exist.

    Do you follow Julie C. Gardner? She wrote one of the BEST pieces on body image. Ever not too long ago. And I wrote about my horrendous Marshall’s experience where a stranger thought she needed to tell me “Your ass looks fat in that dress.”


    We all have to be nicer to each other, but it starts with being more gentle with ourselves methinks.

    I’ll bet your kids like the softness of you.

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