Ah, yes.
The new year.
2015 is upon us.
And to think the world was supposed to end 3 years ago.
I have already seen my fair share of “New Year’s Resolutions” posts on Facebook. Lose weight. Save money. Be a better this and be a better that.
There’s always something about the start of a brand new year that inspires us all to make positive changes. I don’t have a problem with this concept. Self-reflection and self-improvement is a beautiful thing.
However, as I was at the gym last evening, it occurred to me that my resolutions were going to be different this year.
I’ve done the whole loseweightfitinabikiniwearasize4 resolution thing lots of times before.
And you know what? I fail. Miserably. Every. Single. Time.
So, this year, I am not going to try to lose weight. Nope.
And yes, I have looked in a mirror lately, thankyouverymuch.
I’m going to make my arms stronger so that I can lift the extremely clunky and heavy car seat carrier with ease.
Stronger arms make for better pushes on the swing, an extra boost up onto that tree branch they are always wanting to climb, and the ability to line 54 plastic grocery bags up each arm so as to avoid an extra trip out to the car.
Yep. I want stronger arms.
I’m going to strengthen my legs so that I can run, skip, jump, and play with my energetic girls. So that I can stay on my feet longer without needing to plop on the couch. So that I can run out from an Underdog without getting kicked in the head. So that I can lay on my back, balance their bellies on my feet, and “fly” them into the sky like an airplane.
Stronger legs. I’m gonna have them.
I’m going to eat better. And by better, I don’t mean cutting out the little treats that make life livable. I’m still going to have those. But maybe not as much. I’m going to eat better because I can’t expect my children to like the good stuff if I don’t show them that I like the good stuff, too. I don’t want to be a hypocrite. I want to be an example.
And, honestly? I kind of hate sharing my chips when they beg for some off my plate. So maybe I will cool it on the chips. And when I have some, I will give them their own so that they can learn how to enjoy salty, crunchy goodness in moderation.
Lastly, I want to run a 1/2 marathon. I have wanted to do this for a few years now, but I just kept getting pregnant.
Running is one of those things that you can’t possibly understand the joy of it from the outside looking in. However, I remember when I was running quite frequently (3 babies ago) the sense of accomplishment I felt. I stopped short of ever training for 13.1 mile race, but I’m going to do it this year.
Not to lose weight, but to prove to myself that I can do it.
And to show my girls that they can do anything they set their minds to doing.
See? Losing weight is not my goal in any of this. If it happens, awesome! But if it doesn’t, as long as my body is doing all of these other cool new things, I am not going to mind.
The other day, I was moping and near tears because I was disappointed in my body. My 10 week post-Shiloh belly is still soft, flabby, and now has a few unsightly stretch marks. Somehow, I made it through a 40 pound weight gain with Noelle without any stretch marks, but yet a weight gain just shy of 20 pounds yielded a handful of those little assholes.
So, as I was shooting down every single compliment that my husband was giving me…
You’re beautiful.
No, I’m not.
You look great!
Are you kidding?
(along with an almost irreversible eye roll)
I mentioned the stretch marks and said, “How on Earth could you possibly think anything about this is attractive?”
He then said probably the sweetest thing he has ever said to me before.
“Stretch marks? Are you kidding? When I see those, I think about how you gave me the three most beautiful girls. You’re incredible. I don’t care about stretch marks.”
Point taken.
It’s not about weight. It’s not about a bikini. It’s not about being a size I haven’t been since 2nd grade.
I resolve to love the body I have…the one that grew three human beings.
I resolve to make that body stronger and healthier.
For them. For me.
Enough.
