The Weight of The Matter.

What can I say? I'm a lucky girl, and my pregnancy did my body good in the long run. Motherhood has had a rather fortunate effect on my figure. (And my soul as reflected by my smile, but we're not tackling that here.) I'm not the only to experience this phenomena: many women state they are in much better shape after having baby and having to really work to get themselves there. I am at least 17.3 x hotter than I was pre-baby. (And I was none too shabby to begin with.) And I know this.

Logically.

Logically, I know what size clothing I wear and that it is smaller than I ever was before Princess Duckie arrived. Logically, I am aware that a great many sweet burl-y girls tell me how great I look--and their amazement at my baby bounce back (Miss Vermuth comes to mind easiest but I know there have been others). Logically, I see myself in pictures captured of my performances, and I know I have been blessed by a lovely figure. You could say all my thoughts are in line.

This is where the logic stops.

It isn't the end of good intention, however. I have the best hold of my eating problems that I have ever had since that fateful moment when I truly slipped into it. I know now, for an absolute fact, that someone is looking to me for body image guidance. Someone is looking at how I act when I look in the mirror or see pictures of myself. Someone is going to notice the times I don't eat. Someone will hear the awful things I can say if I eat things I don't approve of.

That someone is my most important, cherished responsibility in my life.

Because just as Princess Duckie may have in fact saved her Mommy from going down some very scary track of digestive abuse--I now have someone else to protect from that kind of pain. The type of pain that doesn't allow you to enjoy meals out. Or the holidays. Or the person making love to you.

When you have that type of pain, even laced with enjoyment, there is always a tinge of self-doubt and criticism. Beacause eating out in public turns to terror when a skinnier girl passes by. Because the holidays are already painful enough at some points without the worry of looking fat all day because you ate the slice of pumpkin pie--with whip cream. Because even though he means it with all his heart that you're beautiful, you can't help but wonder if he's foolish or a liar.

So I've done well for the most part. I've made myself behave like a normal person does when they regard or encounter eating. I've done it because I'm not sure when it is exactly when she becomes aware of what people are feeling and how they are acting.

But if I have my logical thoughts...the smaller size and the compliments. The recognition that for the first time in my life, I know I'm hot. For the first summer since age 9, I wore shorts. Slutty shorts! And I've been on stage in pasties and a g-string. I've figured out people like looking.

And I have my actions...because relatively speaking, I'm existing in a remarkably healthy state for someone who had known nothing but starvation polluted periodically with purging and binging for many years prior to pregnancy. Really, guys. I've been behaving myself.

If I've got all that going for me...what are these currents of negativity still floating to my surfaces? It's not the thoughts. It's not the actions. It's something I can't name. Some overwhelming doubt about being happy with myself. I can present that happiness so well. I can get on a stage and be Bubbles and feel bubbly and mean it with all my mind and body.

But my heart, I think, may be the problem.

The person who guards that problem closest--that pesky, doubtful heart of mine--knows of the outrageous number of pounds I think I should lose. Perhaps he knows me well enough to realize I have no concept of what that amount of weight means. That I pick a new number as I see fit as punishment for whatever ways I don't stack up in life. Perhaps always having this crazy straw of self-criticism will leave me inevitably alone because it's very hard to keep calling someone pretty when they just say (and feel): no.

But.

I have good news for this post. It's not nearly as sad as you may see.

1. Princess Duckie is here. I see how pretty I am everyday in the brown of her eyes and the persuasion of her smile.
2. I have beautiful burl-y girls around me on the regular which have me wondering what I think would be so awful if I wasn't skin and bones--because I know how beautiful these girls are. (They don't suffer from the unfortunate disadvantage of me judging me.)
3. I have some people on my life that care enough to put up with my difficult moments and my stumbling ways. And at the end--still think I'm beautiful.

I don't know what polluted my heart with the misconception that I needed to starve myself away from love, from people, from happiness. But I know I've got enough good going to make sure that damage is undone.

And because I now know you can't shimmy without a little shake.