Have you ever had a moment when you see yourself on video/in pictures and you go, "Who. is. THAT?" while turning your nose up? I mean, there are occasions where the question "Who. is. THAT?" is meant in a very good way, such as when you are at the doctor's office and you see a particularly attractive member of the opposite sex...and you adjust your phone like you're playing a game or looking at something awkwardly on the screen when really you're taking a Snap of said person and sending it to your girlfriends. Yeah, I don't mean that kind.
Earlier today, I tried showing my class a video of them performing at a program we had last week. So I pull up the clip and hit "start" on my gigantic Promethean screen that even Stevie Wonder could see from the back of the classroom and low and behold, the first person I see is myself...from the back. LAWWWWWWdamurcy. There I sat, on the front row of the audience, in front of God and errrrbody. I'm cringing at myself then all of sudden, the digital version of me hops up on the stage to adjust a mic and awww nawww...I jumped up from the desk I was watching it from and hit "X" on the computer screen. I couldn't take it!
I've been regularly exercising since mid-January. I've been balls-to-the-wall dieting and exercising since April 1. I mean, after the first day, I was like "Okay, why can't I fit into single digits jeans yet?" It's been all downhill since then.
The ONLY way I've been able to stick to my guns through this devastating period of my life is that all my close friends and co-workers are drop-dead-Fred serious about it with me. It's like my own personal chubster-Kristin therapy called, "Over-Eaters-Anonymous". It's working. I'm not happy about it. But it's working. When my walking PIC (partner in crime) and I are straight ballin' through our neighborhoods, it's like the real-life version of The Lion King's Timon and Pumba. She's like 5'10 and I'm like 5'3, so she's basically the tall skinny one and I'm basically, you guessed it, a freakin' wart hog with stubby legs. And if you don't believe me, then you obviously weren't sitting behind me at the program last week!!!!!!! Ba-da-bum.
Seriously, our nightly walking/jogging/dying jaunts are basically the script of the entire Lion King movie. (Check out the title of this post! Now do you get it?!) New life is born (we are the beginner runners). Scar is a villain (the skinny bitch that passes us every night completely smokin' us is pure evil, I'm sure). Rafiki is KA-razy (We ran into a recently escaped Schizophrenic patient while walking behind the hospital a few weeks ago and I had to call 911 to save us.) The stampede. (is what we sound like 30 seconds into our jog). The Elephant Graveyard (is what I feel like I should be buried in 2 minutes, 30 seconds into our jog.) The Watering Hole (should I have this much spit in my mouth when I run? It's disgusting, really.) The song, "Be Prepared" (is what somebody should've told me about wearing cheeky underwear while working out. I've got a crick in my neck from turning around behind me while running to check and be sure nobody is there so I can pull out the chronic wedgie I can't shake. Is it socially acceptable to go commando while exercising? If it's not, can somebody help a sistah out and let me know what type I should be wearing?)
I moan and groan about it but I'm still doing it. After all, it's what I do in between pregnancies it seems. I work out til I get pregnant. I stop for a few weeks because I'm scared to move. I miscarry. Wait a few weeks to get my body back to normal. Then start all over again. And THAT, Sir Elton John, is the Circle of Life. At least my life, that is.
The whole baby thing has been pushed to the back of my mind for the most part until there's a wave of new babies or new pregnancy announcements (which happens every few months) I try REEEALLY hard not to allow myself to get upset about it when I hear a bunch of news. I'm stronger than that, I tell myself. Sometimes, just because I'm human, I let myself become overwhelmed with emotions about it (in the privacy of my own home) because I feel like I'm getting left behind. Does that make sense? It's like, people older than me are having babies. People younger than me are having babies. All the people I used to connect with over NOT being able to have babies have all had babies...it's just sad for me sometimes because I'm the one NOT having them.
I have to separate myself from society though. It's often hard to make myself realize that I shouldn't be upset over not having a child because it's what everybody else is doing. You shouldn't get married because "it's what everybody else is doing". You shouldn't get a salad at a restaurant because "it's what everybody else is doing". I want a child because I want to be able to leave a legacy behind. I want to see my quirkiness in a mini-human that the person I love the most and I made. I hope that's why people have babies in the first place. I'm just adjusting to swallowing the pill that is the fact that maybe I'll have to leave a different kind of legacy behind other than a child. And that's okay. Perhaps writing professionally is the road I'm taking to leaving a legacy rather than making another person. That's a basket I should be putting all my eggs into instead of letting tears fall over nonsense that I can't control.
My legs are throbbing and I'm pretty sure I won't be able to get out of the chair I'm sitting in. I'm heading to bed 'cos in keeping with my theme, this lion needs to sleep tonight. Until next time, Hakuna Matata, my friends.
(Pumba's face below is what mine looked like this morning when I saw myself on tape. Classic.)
