Me and My Pooch

For the past few days my AIM status has read, "I'm fine with my pooch...really." No, I don't own a dog. I'm referring to my tummy pooch or lower abdominal region. I've struggled with my size for as long as I can remember. In elementary school, I was always relegated to the back of the line right in front of Emma*, the amazonian African girl in my classes. Sometimes we made the line so long that we would have to double up onto the boys line, which made me feel like I was too huge to even be a girl. She seemed to embrace her stature, whereas I just couldn't wait until the class reached its final destination, so that I could jump outta line and rush over to my midget friends. (Sidebar: My chiropractor subsequently diagnosed me with "Tall Girl Syndrome," which is when a tall girl's back tends to stoop over a result constantly lowering herself around short people.)

Puberty hit me hard around age eleven. I was socked with lop-sided boobs, menstruation and a whooping 181 pounds of fat. People told me it was merely "baby" fat, but just because the word "baby" prefaces something, doesn't make it any better (e.g. - BABY hur). Add that to my height and I was a freaking enormous giant with pigtails. Thankfully that phase only lasted a couple of years. Most of my "baby" fat melted away by my freshman year of high school and I had the mini skirts to prove that I was somewhat proud of my new body. Only I was never completely satisfied with my figure A) because my butt never grew; and B) because my tummy was never completely flat. Don't get me wrong- my stomach never bulged out of control over my waistband or anything. When I looked down, my feet were still visible. My stomach just had a tendency to make a roll whenever I sat down or wore anything tight. Even at my skinniest, I can recall feeling like my fat "gut" was the ultimate bane of my existence. When I stood up, it pretty much disappeared, but if I ever saw even a hit of protrusion in my profile, I would freak out. I was never athletic, but I am sure, with my teenage metabolism, if I'd attempted to do ten crunches and eased up on the high school diet of Mcdonald's and pizza, my issue would've been resolved. However, hindsight is 20/20 so I just whined endlessly about my tummy tire.

My pooch and I survived four years of college- late night fast food runs, alcohol binges and ironically, Spring Breaks in South Beach and the Caribbean. Before every vacation I would crash diet and fret over how I was going to pull off a bikini with my jelly belly. My friends thought I was a nut because I clearly wasn't overweight. They couldn't tell because I was such a master at hiding it. Besides, they were too busy flaunting their rotund behinds, double Ds and/or killer legs to obsess over their little paunches.

Truthfully, I didn't look bad back then. Heck, I WISH I could get my college body back- stomach and all. But that's the point- ten years from now, I'm going to long for my body today. The other day I wore the tightest pencil skirt ever with a tank top. When I turned to the side, my gut was somewhat apparent, although the dark colors camouflaged it very well. And guess what? I still looked hot to death. Everyone complimented me and the dudes tried to holler- as usual. It was such a relief to just not care. I'm not saying that I should wild out with my potbelly. Occasionally, it is necessary to tame it with a pair of Spanx. However, after almost thirty years of tormenting myself over something so trivial, it feels so good to finally let it go. Face it, I've never had and probably won't ever achieve a six pack- and that is okay. A little softness in a woman's midsection may not be "perfect," but it is perfectly normal... and even kind of sexy. Now, I won't play myself and go outside with my full midriff on display. But I've gotten cocky enough to rock a low-slung bottom that showed a hint of belly button with my newfound body acceptance.

I am so glad to be over that mental-physical hurdle. As long as I don't get pregnant, my pooch and I will get along just fine :)