Fat Pants

Okay, guys, here's the thing... I don't even mind how my body looks right now. I don't. I'm in my thirties...I've had a couple of kids. My abs and I had a good run, but we're seeing other people right now, you know? Could I stand to lose 10 or 15 pounds? suuuuuuuuuuuure Could I do it if I just got my ass in gear and stopped whining about it? Without a doubt. You know what I can't do? I can't go back to my 22-year-old, twiggy-ass little pre-motherhood body. And that's a GOOD THING, people. Because I adore the person I am post-motherhood. I'm stronger, more confident, more well-read, a little wiser and a little wider and much more comfortable in my own skin. I make better decisions by the skin of my teeth these days than I ever did thoughtfully in my youth. I am more artistic, more musical, more entertained by the simple things. I dance worse than ever, but do it more often and in more public places. I stride boldly, I don't slouch. I even wear earrings and put a little lipstick on without having to be reminded to do so...some days. I can travel. I can rent cars and own homes. I can be in charge of three tiny lives even though I kill plants like it's going out of style. But all of these attributes still don't mean I can squeeze my ass into a size 2 stretch denim pair of booty shorts. Who DESIGNED these things, anyway? Hmm? Let's string them up by their toes...in their own shorts...