My Body as a Work of Art? Say What?

So, I was working on another post this morning, and I stumbled across an article on the More Magazine website entitled "My Body as a Work of Art".  I had read a letter to the editor about this article some time before and was sorry to have missed the actual article, because this is just the kind of article I dig, just like Calendar Girls is one of my favorite movies.  There is just something about getting older, and not having to look perfect, and loving your body just the same, or more even, that just appeals to me (this is actually kind of what the post I was working on was about, not the body issue but the age issue).  Anyway, when I read the letter to the editor, I meant to look the article up online, but you know, good intentions pave the road to you know where, so I never did see it, until this morning.

And when I did, it really hit home.  Here I am, 40 years old, 41 in exactly one month, and not technically in the greatest shape of my life.  Sure, I've lost a ton of weight lately, so I'm thin, but I'm not in good shape.  I can't really exercise, so when I check out the rear view, lets just say, the backs of my knees steal the show.  And without a cute push up bra, well...a nice belt buckle is the perfect accessory for the twins (boobs, breasts, ta-tas).  My weight has fluctuated from 112lbs to 170lbs in my adult life ( I don't think I've ever put that in writing, certainly not on my drivers license).  My husband knew when I was 112, but I would have died before admitting to 170, even though he could see it (he is a smart man though, he would never guess over 125).


And why do these numbers matter so much?  I grew up in Weight Watchers meetings.  Not because I had a weight problem, but because my mother did.  She was a single mom, and took me with her to the meetings.  At the time, you weighed and measured all of your food, there was no points system.  I was an expert at it, I prepared and measured many of my mother's meals.  She struggled with her weight my whole life.  And as a result, I went on my first diet at 11 years old, all on my own, even though I only weighed about 98lbs.  I don't think my mother even noticed because she was so used to me preparing her diet meals.  

My mother struggled with weight most of her life.  I don't think she was actually really very heavy until the last few years of her life, but she grew up "in the fat club".  My grandmother ran "the fat club" in our family.  To be a member, you just had to "lose a few pounds"  and she would reward you with a new dress, a cruise, a new pair of shoes, you get the picture.  Grandma is old school, she was pin-up girl pretty and her father raised her to believe that was VERY important, so she passed it on to her daughters.  Both rebelled, of course, my aunt continues to struggle with her weight.  I actually joined "the fat club" at about 145lbs when my second son was 10 months old and my grandma was taking me on a cruise.  She offered to buy me a cruise wardrobe if I lost 10lbs.  Of course I wanted those clothes so I lost those 10lbs, but that was the first time I really knew what it was like for my mom and my aunt growing up.  I was in my early 20s, and had never been over 120lbs before, but even before joining "the fat club"  (not that 145 is fat in ANY way) I was never comfortable in my body.  

And my body was just fine.  If I could write a letter to me, that is one of the first things I would say, you are fine the way you are.  Beautiful even.  Be comfortable.  Because if you ask me if I have any regrets about my life, that would be it.  All the time I wasted being uncomfortable in my body, obsessing over weight, size, proportion.  Not appreciating when my ass was two inches higher just because it was a little bigger, or my boobs were perkier, just because they weren't as big as I wanted them to be, or my stomach was flatter just because I had stretch marks.

So, ya, today,  I am 40 fabulous years old.  And with all my physical woes, my body IS a work of friggin art. Trust me when I tell you I was unprepared  for this little revelation, but there it is.  My birthday is a month away, and even thought I hate cameras, maybe I'll treat myself to a professional nude photo session to celebrate being fabulous 41.

Here's the article that inspired me today, check it out, I think you'll like it;

Five women describe the experience of posing as classic nudes

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