I have a wax warmer to wax my eyebrows. Every now and then, when I can stand growing out the hair, I’ll also do my underarms. When I was smaller and more flexible, I could do it myself, but can’t get the right angle, or hold the skin taut enough on my own anymore. Plus, I am so weak that I can barely hold my arms up long enough. So, I enlist the help of my husband. He doesn’t like to do it, but he does it for me anyways.
I asked him for help tonight and he agreed. It’s hard for me though, because it requires me to spend time in a tank-top in front of a mirror. I look at my reflection and am appalled. My arms are huge and my belly is bigger than it ever was at the end of any of my pregnancies. Then I start thinking how gross he must think I look, and is just too nice to say anything. But who am I to say what he’s thinking? He’s never said it.
His love is one of the things I struggle with a lot. I wonder how I got so lucky and don’t feel like I deserve such a great guy. I suppose him being so awesome has nothing to do with me though, anymore than it would be my fault if he was mean. Case in point, I know a really amazing guy who can’t get along with his significant other. It doesn’t matter what he does, she isn’t happy. You can’t make someone happy if they just don’t know how to be happy with themselves.
On that same note, I do want to do things that my husband likes. I want to be the kind of mom and wife that likes, and for him to like my appearance. I think my husband finds me attractive in some ways, but that he would find me even more attractive if I was thinner. I also know, because he’s told me, that he misses going jogging and being active together. I miss that too.
When I am forced to look myself in the mirror, I just can’t believe I’ve let myself get to this point. Sometimes I feel like I’m too far gone. I think even if I lose weight, I’ll have a bunch of extra skin and still look terrible. I know that’s a lame excuse not to make changes in the right direction, but it feels true, and I just feel defeated before I’ve even started.
The Difference A Year Can Make 