Hi Readers! I am so proud, excited, thrilled…you get the idea…to bring you Sarah from Momalom today!
I’m guest posting with a letter to my hideous, decrepit old body over there today, so Sarah decided to reciprocate with a letter to HER firm little 31 year-old body. Sarah, you whippersnapper. Quit whining, beeyotch. I jest. Sort of.
A Letter to My Body in its 31st Year
In honor of Love It Up and the gushy month of February I was hoping to write you a love letter and send along some roses. But after I read Kitch’s letter to her 40-year-old body I decided to get real. I shall not mince words. It’s not my style, Body, you should know that by now. Let’s be honest, you gave me Mouth and I know how to use it. You do everything you can to protect Mind and must have some sense of what’s going on up there. So here it is:
You’re making me cranky. I can’t look in the mirror these days and I am growing to resent you. I know we’ve been through a lot and I have some blame in that, but maybe if we just air the dirty laundry I will feel better about punishing you in my “no-love letter.” I’m okay with admitting my faults if you are.
I hereby apologize for the following:
The tattoo. I branded you. Yes I did. It’s there; it’s bold; it can’t be hidden. I was young and dumb and didn’t think about your needs and wants at all. I know this. Let’s get over this one together, it’s gonna be a long life.
The drugs. It was a long road for both of us. There were good times and there were bad, but in the end it put us right where we were supposed to be, in the arms of a man I love dearly and an accidental pregnancy that turned my entire life around. Let the past pass and let’s live without shame.
The children. I know you are exhausted and worn thin. Your entire being aches and creaks and cries for rest. I know you cannot feel your feet some days and wonder if you are walking on air. I know that wrestling with the baby through another diaper change seems like reason enough to give up. But you have a weakness and that weakness brought children. I expect you to take a modicum of responsibility for this.
The little things. I don’t take you for a run or get you a massage nearly as often as I should. I know this. I am sorry. I leave red toenail polish to wither and die with no promise to replace it until Spring. I’m sorry. I keep you up late and get you up early. I feed you too much and too little and all the wrong type of foods. I call you names and try to hide you under the sheets. Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Now let’s move on to you:
For issues regarding Hair, Skin, Ass and Libido, please see details HERE:. And by gosh by golly you best read them carefully.
For issues regarding Breasts, Stomach, Thighs, and Energy, please know this: You punished both of us by bearing such large children. How you couldn’t know that a 10-pound baby would deliver irreversible stretch marks is beyond me. How you could think I would ever bounce back from that pregnancy and the subsequent births of two nearly 9-pound babies, I do not know. How you can live with yourself knowing how my breasts have reshaped into no shape at all, and how my ass longs to be admired as the ass it once was, I will never understand. You have punished us both, dear body, and I’m not pleased at all. You cannot blame me for the children; you know your weakness was the sex. You are completely at fault for your need to fulfill Desire.
You plead with me to treat you well—to feed you right and work you out daily. However, I need you to dangle a carrot—the promise of a happier self and a stronger body—because at this point my attempts seem futile. I no longer want to be in battle; I want to believe that you will respond to the work I put in. Genetics tell me different. I see glimpses of Future Body at my local Starbucks and she is not exactly what I have in mind. Can we make a pact to work together?
Please know I do not expect you to become Elasta-Girl. But I do expect you to want to want this as much as I do. I will wake you up early and I will bring Ass to the gym if you can give me a glimmer of hope that Ass will be slipping out of her pants by the end of the month.
I do love you, Body. I will try to treat you better. I want to work hard for you and make our life better. Let’s give this a shot. And let me stress that time is of the essence. I await your reply.