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My house is clean. It's a good, good feeling. And not just on-the-surface, shoved-everything-into-closets clean. It's actually *clean*. Life is good.
Of course, it helps that we inherited my mom's cleaning guy along with my mom, and he just left from his every-other-week visit, in which he vacuums, dusts, mops, and cleans the bathrooms.
I'm hoping we get to keep him when she leaves. Whenever that turns out to be.
Will is napping, which is good. I'm on my way to my fifth lunch of salad this week. I'm not going to complain, though. Monday morning, the scale read 154. This morning, it read 148.5 Didn't cheat at all yesterday, either. This is a good thing motivation-wise. I just keep thinking about the wedding.
I think I should also go clean off my car. The snow yesterday was just too...snowy to worry about. Then it was torrential rain. Now, of course, it's slush. But I think a trip out of the house is in order. Neither of us has been out in days--me since work on Tuesday, Will since our grocery store trip on Monday. We both might be a bit stir-crazy. Besides, I need more salad stuff.
I wish that last part was a joke.
Body image is a weird thing. To the rest of the world, I apparently look "fine." THat's what the people in my office tell me. "Jennifer, you look fine. Especially since you just had a baby!" Umm, well, that baby I just had--he'll be 14 months old next week. And I don't want to look "fine." I used to look good.
I miss that. I miss being able to wear whatever I wanted* without thinking about the belly bulge.
Once upon a time, I went to a party with the Artboy. I had met Elaine at one of her fashion shows, and she liked the way her clothes looked on me--enough so that after I had purchased a couple new outfits, she invited us to a party in a Chinatown loft with her and her boyfriend. I, of course, wore the new clothes.
The Artboy and I were in a weird place--reconciled from the latest breakup but not *quite* a couple exactly yet. I think it was the "I want to date you but I don't want to call you my girlfriend just in case something better comes along" kind of attitude. Anyway, we went to the party, and it was...crazy. The loft space was fun and funky, and there were quite possibly hundreds of people there. The Artboy left me for a while, and I sucked up the fear in the pit of my stomach and mingled. I ended up at the ice luge, doing Jaeger shots with investment bankers and bass players. It was kind of a "fins to the left, fins to the right, and you're the only bait in town" moment. Never have I had such large amounts of male attention focused in my direction. Yep, that night, I got to be Queen Bee.
Eventually, the Artboy caught up with me. He'd been standing and talking to one of the members of Bim Skala Bim, who had seen me walk by. The guy from Bim made some comment like, "wow--she's HOT!" The Artboy looked at him and said, "Dude, that's my girlfriend!" Suddenly, I was the something better coming along.
I wouldn't dare put on any of my Elaine clothes now. THey'd just look bad. Not that they're exactly appropriate for rice cereal and pears, but still.
I'd like, just one more time, to be the hot girl in the room.
Yep, body image is a funny thing.
*within reason, of course. THere are some clothes out there that just don't belong on humans.
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