When I say “I still feel fat” I am referring to the last, oh 40 years. The thing is now I am fat. Fat and middle aged. When I look in the mirror I don’t see me anymore, I see a woman past her prime with a thick waist and brown hair, unless the goal of going to the drugstore and buying a box of dye hasn’t been met recently. Then my hair is gray and washed-out brown.
My two children are probably not that aware of their mother’s receding vitality as they are both in their teens and are only concerned with themselves.
I have a daughter, age 18 who is more like my husband’s family than mine. That means she is quick with a cutting comeback when needed.
My (our, whatever) son is 15 and is much easier than my daughter. I’ll tell you why later, but suffice to say he doesn’t really talk back, is pretty obedient, and is trustworthy.
What? Who said that?
I hold both my boos (that’s right, I can throw a little street talk in there) so close to my heart it’s a little stifling. For them or for me? For both. My bunny and my bo. Damn it.
When I was pregnant with my daughter we lived in Aberdeen, Washington a small town in the Pacific Northwest. I remember a small older woman in a dusky furniture store who looked at my belly and told me “You’re life is going to change.” It wasn’t her words, cause sure. That was pretty obvious. It was the way she said it. Kind of with humor, knowledge and familiarity – I’ve just never forgotten her even though we met for just that brief moment.
I’ve made so many mistakes and my job is almost done. My kids are almost grown. They will always need me. Heck, still I rely on my mom and she is across the country AND she’s 82.
But the need will be different and it is becoming more different every day.
Sometimes I miss them so bad, even when they are in the same room.