Not That Word

It's time for my yearly physical. Oh, how I love that trip to the Doctor's office. My Doctor likes to torture me, not once, but twice. The first session is the dreaded PAP and breast examination. Then, he sends me away for blood work. I then go for a follow up to discuss the results of the blood test. Or so I think. And before you know it, I'm undressed on the table again. Only this time, my giant rear end is up in the air and I am being poked and prodded again. The next time I see my boyfriend do 'the shocker' for a photo op, it will have a whole new meaning for me.
So, as if the whole vulnerable 'poking' isn't torture enough, there's always the looming scale to add to the torment. I love being weighed in front of people. Doesn't everybody? I have struggled with my weight my entire life. I have been up and down on the scales so many times, that a doctor once told me to just "pick a weight and stick to it". It's healthier to be fat and consistent, then it is to fluctuate so drastically. It does make sense. I have been doing well in the last few years, at maintaining the weight that I am. It's not the weight that I want to be at, but it is what it is. In fact, every year during my physical, I have gone down a couple of pounds. Slow and steady wins the race. The last time I was at the Doctor, he pointed out that I am now almost out of the OBESE category. ALMOST OUT?...I shriek. I have used all kinds of terms to describe my size. Chubby, valuptuous, pleasantly plump, a little overweight. But OBESE!? How can I possibly be obese? I know it's just very generalized 'medical terminology', but when someone tells you you are obese, there is no rationalizing. No. Rationalizing. I have to hold back my tears. And believe me. When I get in my car, there is not holding back.

Sticks and Stones

I'm in grade 3. I made lots of great friends in kindergarten. Maybe I'll even be friends with them when I'm all grown up. Grade 1 was a blast. I was in the Bugs Bunny reading group. We were the best in the class. My best friend skipped grade 2, so now she's here with me in grade 3. I really like being at school with all my friends. I have lots of friends. We're having a folk dance. A big city wide competition. We are practicing our dance today. The song goes like this. "Oh, I don't want her you can have her, she's too fat for me-hey, she's too fat, she's too fat, she's too fat for me". My teacher pairs me up with a boy in the class. A kid I've known since kindergarten. So as the song starts to play and we beging our dancing, he sings the song to me. Loud and clear. He even points and laughs a bit. I don't really like how that makes me feel. But I'll just ignore him and keep dancing.....

I'm 34 now, and will remember that moment for the rest of my life. It surfaces and haunts me far more often than it should.

I have decided, today for some reason I am not sure of, that I will not let this haunt me any further. I am 34 now. Time to grow up. Time to grow.

Over the next little while I am going to share my thoughts in this blog, in hopes that I will come to some kind of internal peace with myself and who I am. I am not too fat. And you can't have me, because I don't want you.