You’re Beautiful… for your age

I don’t know what the heck is wrong with me and why it’s been so hard to motivate myself to get to the gym.  There was a time in my life when I used to go 5 times a week.  I was in the best shape ever. Sure, that was before I had a life and before Ella, but still.

Derek said, “Take off.  Get out of here. Sit in the hot tub after you work out.  De-stress.”  “Are you kidding me”, I shrieked.  “I ain’t parading around the gym in a bathing suit!”  He looked at me and said, “Well, I can’t help you with that one.”  Damn, Gina!  Why didn’t he tell me how awesome I look?  Right… because I don’t!  I thought to myself, shoot, I don’t look that bad.  I am a mom and work full time.  Give me a break, man.  Then I went upstairs, put on my workout clothes, and then kissed Derek goodbye.

This is what leads me to this post.  I am getting too used to hearing, “But you look good for your age.” Or, “You look good for having a kid.”  Yeah, I do, but it heats me up.  I mean, I love compliments and will take them any way I can get them these days.  But I don’t like how we qualify the compliment.  What they should just say instead is, “Well, for  carrying an extra 30 pounds while pregnant and then popping a baby out of her vagina and then suffering from major boob sag, and being a woman past her prime at 36, you look awesome.”  What the hell is that?  We all say it and think it all the time.

If you look good, you look good.  Why bring up age or number of children?  I am always reminded of Joan Rivers.  In my humble opinion, she looks like doo doo–no matter how old she is.  She’d look awful if she were 40 and I think she looks awful at 80.

Of course, if you were to compare me to a 16 year old supermodel, I’d look like shit!  So why do we even feel the need to say “for your age” or whatever?  Then it got me thinking even more.  What a shame that we are a society that is fixated on youthful beauty.  When the hell did that happen and why? (I’m sure I could research it, but I really don’t want to.)  If this weren’t the case, plastic surgeons wouldn’t be millionaires.  When a model hits 30, they’re considered over-the-hill.  And have you seen how most of the runway models look like they’re 16 and starving?  Most of us don’t have figures like those girls, nor do we want to, and anyone with enough money to buy all that haute-couture crap is probably over 25 anyway.  So how does that make sense?  It’s illogical, but girls have issues because of it.

I know that there are a lot of women out there who celebrate their age.  They revel in their laugh lines and celebrate their stretch marks.  Good for them.  I, for one, have never felt so secure with myself in my life.  This being a mom thing is good for me.  Maybe that’s why I don’t feel the need to hit the gym as much as I used to. I don’t know.  Sure, I am soft and I don’t love looking into a full length mirror these days, but I am proud of who I am.  I have created a child, been divorced once, had lots of career problems, lost 2 pregnancies, lived in 5 states before I was 18, have had parent issues my entire life, been in some abusive relationships, etc. blah blah blah.  We all have baggage, right?  It makes us who we are.  Wisdom and experience are wonderful things and we don’t earn them until we have lived.  So why do we celebrate youth so much?  Is it some innate caveman thing about making babies by a certain age?

Who knows.  It sucks.  I know that I would stay right here and not go back to my youth if given the choice.  I was so naive and idealistic and thought the world was a friendly place.  I’m good right where I am.  But I won’t lie–I miss my perky boobs and smoother skin.  But maybe that’s because society has told me to miss those things.  It would be awesome to start seeing some more mature, normal-looking women in magazines–and not just in places like Lane Bryant–I mean in mainstream media.  We can all dream, right?

So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a slice of leftover pumpkin pie.  After all, I’m not perfect and still look good for 36.  A little slice of pie won’t kill me.

xoxo~M

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