I have been scouring our files, looking, flinging things, tossing things out of the way all in search of one good photo of me –one that doesn’t involve a wedding dress or baby fat because, let’s face it, the baby fat is not pretty.
This search got me thinking, why on earth are there only very few pictures of me, out of hundreds of photos taken in the last 4 years why are there only a handful that contain me in them? Actually, I won’t lie –I can’t stop thinking about why so little evidence of me exists in pictures. I have been obsessing, really.
At first, I blamed Bob, because surely if he were more adamant about taking pictures of me more would exist, but, really, he does try, I just flat out refuse. As a general rule, the second I see the camera whipped out I ignore all calls for my attention because, I am never in any shape to have my picture taken, ever. I reason in my head at the time that I am too fat, dressed like a slob, my hair is never brushed – it’s disheveled (sexy, no?), there is always a reason to avoid the camera, if it’s not my appearance than it’s always something.
And while all the excuses in the world make perfect sense at the time of the opportunity it never ceases that I am sorely disappointed when I review the pictures later and discover none of the family photos include me. If you were only allowed access to our photos you would be led to believe that my husband is a single father of two – which I have previously written off as me being the ‘photographer’ but that isn’t really the case.
I guess it’s something I have been ignoring for a really long time but more importantly something that has reared its ugly head since having children. Like many women, I have suffered from body issues my entire life and it was something I thought I had a pretty good handle on before having children – I thought I had gotten past it.
It became obvious while pregnant with my first that my issues were not only still present they happened to be devouring junk food at an alarming rate - apparently my issues thought that pregnancy was a free for all and who was I to stop it? The flip side of letting the issues loose is that you get fat, albeit in the name of my first born, it doesn’t change what the scale told me, it so happens that it spelled it out for me in red digital letters, FAT. Sure I had seen FAT before, I was slightly familiar with FAT but she had never in her life just up and moved into my house and decided to stay for a while.
Something didn’t sit well with me having FAT as a house guest and before I knew it I was doing everything I could to get her the hell out. Once she was gone I swore to the entire world she would never be allowed back into my house because that pesky house guest is really hard to get rid of despite how innocent she appears when she first accepts your offer. I’d beaten the FAT right out of my house and was sure as hell not going to let her back in, not even if I were pregnant again.
But, I got pregnant again, and while I beat the FAT in the beginning of the pregnancy the issues were all too eager to feast on junk food in the name of another baby because that is only fair to the fetus y’know – each fetus deserved the samecheetos nutrition, yeah that’s it, it was all in the name of equality. Of course, FAT decided to stay a little longer the second time, eventually leaving sometime after the babes 1st birthday.
The lingering effects of FAT are something I hadn’t anticipated, I thought I’d kick her out and she’d go on her merry little way and I would be done with her. Not the case, seeing photos of me during the first few months of Kyan’s life was alarming because I do this thing when FAT comes around, I avoid the mirror or looking at the mirror for too long for fear I may not recognize the person looking back at me and when I saw those pictures I was in disbelief. In my mind I was the same size 8 I always picture myself to be no matter what my real size is and to see a photo reflecting my actual size blew me away and scared the daylights out of me.
The shock that came with seeing me FAT shook me to the core because I certainly didn’t feel the way the photos made me look and I certainly didn’t want any proof I was ever that big, again.
So began the dance I do when the cameras come out and even though the weight is gone and FAT has removed herself from my house the effects are still lingering leaving me to avoid photos for fear it will be proof that FAT is back.
And, really I already know I should love every inch of me and believe me I do, it's just a scary place to have proof that in trying to set a good example that you just piece together some semblance of normalcy and you find yourself fumbling.
This search got me thinking, why on earth are there only very few pictures of me, out of hundreds of photos taken in the last 4 years why are there only a handful that contain me in them? Actually, I won’t lie –I can’t stop thinking about why so little evidence of me exists in pictures. I have been obsessing, really.
At first, I blamed Bob, because surely if he were more adamant about taking pictures of me more would exist, but, really, he does try, I just flat out refuse. As a general rule, the second I see the camera whipped out I ignore all calls for my attention because, I am never in any shape to have my picture taken, ever. I reason in my head at the time that I am too fat, dressed like a slob, my hair is never brushed – it’s disheveled (sexy, no?), there is always a reason to avoid the camera, if it’s not my appearance than it’s always something.
And while all the excuses in the world make perfect sense at the time of the opportunity it never ceases that I am sorely disappointed when I review the pictures later and discover none of the family photos include me. If you were only allowed access to our photos you would be led to believe that my husband is a single father of two – which I have previously written off as me being the ‘photographer’ but that isn’t really the case.
I guess it’s something I have been ignoring for a really long time but more importantly something that has reared its ugly head since having children. Like many women, I have suffered from body issues my entire life and it was something I thought I had a pretty good handle on before having children – I thought I had gotten past it.
It became obvious while pregnant with my first that my issues were not only still present they happened to be devouring junk food at an alarming rate - apparently my issues thought that pregnancy was a free for all and who was I to stop it? The flip side of letting the issues loose is that you get fat, albeit in the name of my first born, it doesn’t change what the scale told me, it so happens that it spelled it out for me in red digital letters, FAT. Sure I had seen FAT before, I was slightly familiar with FAT but she had never in her life just up and moved into my house and decided to stay for a while.
Something didn’t sit well with me having FAT as a house guest and before I knew it I was doing everything I could to get her the hell out. Once she was gone I swore to the entire world she would never be allowed back into my house because that pesky house guest is really hard to get rid of despite how innocent she appears when she first accepts your offer. I’d beaten the FAT right out of my house and was sure as hell not going to let her back in, not even if I were pregnant again.
But, I got pregnant again, and while I beat the FAT in the beginning of the pregnancy the issues were all too eager to feast on junk food in the name of another baby because that is only fair to the fetus y’know – each fetus deserved the same
The lingering effects of FAT are something I hadn’t anticipated, I thought I’d kick her out and she’d go on her merry little way and I would be done with her. Not the case, seeing photos of me during the first few months of Kyan’s life was alarming because I do this thing when FAT comes around, I avoid the mirror or looking at the mirror for too long for fear I may not recognize the person looking back at me and when I saw those pictures I was in disbelief. In my mind I was the same size 8 I always picture myself to be no matter what my real size is and to see a photo reflecting my actual size blew me away and scared the daylights out of me.
The shock that came with seeing me FAT shook me to the core because I certainly didn’t feel the way the photos made me look and I certainly didn’t want any proof I was ever that big, again.
So began the dance I do when the cameras come out and even though the weight is gone and FAT has removed herself from my house the effects are still lingering leaving me to avoid photos for fear it will be proof that FAT is back.
And, really I already know I should love every inch of me and believe me I do, it's just a scary place to have proof that in trying to set a good example that you just piece together some semblance of normalcy and you find yourself fumbling.
4 comments:
Oh the truth of it all! The ugly ugly, I hate my body truth of it all. I fear that lady FAT. I hate when she takes up residence and I'm perpetually trying to kick her out. Why oh why is she that exact persona that can never get the polite, nor kick it in the face message. I pester my husband and get angry that he won't take pics of me and then when FAT appears in them I get so depressed and scour the photos where she isn't sitting in and crave for good ones. In fact my weight loss always stems around the idea that by the 'next' birthday in the family, there will be a decent photo of me.
She sure is a *#@%&, isn't she? I can relate to the photo issue all too well. I'm either avoiding the camera or too busy taking the pics myself. Gotta love the lives we lead, right?!
I hear you, my friend. I've blogged about this before too. I worry that I will die and my kids will have little to no pictures of me for the past five years.
I also went from a size 8 to a now size 16. God! I have never said that size aloud. I cut out my tags so my husband doesn't see what size I am.
I can recall early in our relationship when he called his sister a fat cow because she was a size 12. Gah! If only.
I can't blame it on the pregnancies. I lost all the weight on my third. Then, as soon as I stopped breastfeeding, while being PTA president, then moving two states over, and I've packed on over 65 lbs.
And probably sitting here all day on my butt while blogging and commenting is probably not helping. Still working on the blogging balance.
sigh.
I've started to let my husband take pics, but only if hair and make up is done. Can't do much about the rolls of fat, but hopefully my kids will love those pics of me even with the second chin and flapping arms.
I hope you do the same.
hugs.
I totally understand how you feel. During my pregnancy, I only gain baby weight, 25 pounds, and even lost some weight in different areas. After the baby, different story. I started gaining weight in my butt, back, stomach and hips. AND I was eating less than before I got pregnant. I am now on a strict diet, but still take pictures with my baby boy even though I hate taking them because of my weight. How do I get around this? I crop the pictures honey. I cut out the fat arms, legs and whatever I do not like about the picture. It may be just my face or parts of my body with the baby, but at least there is a picture that I can accept until I lose the weight.
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