So long, Muffin Top
Look at you. Yeah, you, muffin top. I see you bulging over the top of my jeans. Staring at me. Judging me for that oatmeal creme pie I secretly ate in my room with the door shut last night. So what? It was ONE creme pie. Okay, so it was also just one cookie yesterday, one bag of Cheetos the day before that, and only one….why am I explaining it to you? What’s done is done.
The treats are a way for me to process my emotions from the day. There are other ways to relieve it, you say? Hey, you’re not the one having to deal with all the depression and anxiety and demands each and every day. You don’t know what it’s like. Well, maybe you do know. You feel the upset and sadness I store inside. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so mean. It’s not you – it’s me. No, really, it is me.
I’m the one who enables you to sit in judgment of me. I feed you – literally – making it easy for you to creep up and over the tops of my jeans. I could easily walk more to help combat both the stress and excess weight, but I guess there are excuses reasons for not doing it. It requires more of an effort I’m willing to make right now.
This is why I got leggings – to hide your growth. No, I’m not ashamed of you. You’re a part of my body. You comforted and nurtured my precious children – the little monsters they are – and kept them safe while they grew healthy and strong when they needed it most. Even the stretch marks left on you are an indication of that protection scarring my smooth skin until the end of my days. For that I’m grateful.
However, there is a part of me that grows tired of seeing you. A glimpse here, a stare there. You’re a constant reminder of how I can’t find an effective way to cope with my situation. That, no matter what, you’ll always be there. I know that should sound comforting to me, but it’s not. Actually, to be completely honest – I’m not okay with you, muffin top. In fact, I want you gone.
Yes, gone. I know what I said about you protecting my children, but your services are no longer needed. My kids are growing older with each passing day, and there are no future babies to nurture. So, really there’s no need for you to stay around any more.
I won’t forget you. Because no matter how much of you melts away, the marks will forever remain. Each one will hold the memories of my children’s months in my womb, and that will never be forgotten. It’s for the best – for the both of us. We must face our reality and accept the truth. The truth is – muffin tops aren’t for me.
So long, muffin top.
