Today I am mad.
I went to the dr. on Monday 8/13 for an “annual” visit. She pointed out to me that my blood pressure was “elevated.” She was very impressed that I weighed 40 lbs less than our exam last year….BUT, she was quick to tell me that my headaches, my hip pain, and world hunger, would all be resolved if I continued to lose weight. Well….to be honest with you….my plan was just to freakin’ stop. I was happy. I know….I was still over 200, but I was closer to 200 than 300 now, and I had reached that happy balance where I could still eat a little crap on a daily basis and buy clothes from regular merchants instead of having stuff custom made or online. To me this is her saying, “Chick, you are getting old, and if you don’t grow up and start taking care of yourself you are going to have to take medication every day for your much shorter, more painful, life. So put the Spunkmeyer muffin down and walk around the block.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad at HER. Heck, she is probably pushing 300 or so herself…. I am mad at life. I am mad at having to be the grown up. I am mad that there has to be consequences. I am mad that I can’t eat those mini-vanilla sandwich cookies that Grandma (well, not my grandma…that sweet old lady that works at Kellogg) made for me and put in the vending machine RIGHT OUTSIDE MY DOOR. Taunting me….singing my name every so sweetly….. ”Cindy…..we’re waiting….” I am feeling guilty because my daughter is only 12 and I have clearly influenced her to follow my example, and I worry about how her future will be influenced by those choices. She won’t be a cheerleader? Will she date? Will she still participate in sports? Will she have friends? Will she become an outcast? Kids are cruel. I didn’t have to bear the brunt of it so much, because even though I felt like jabba the hut the most I ever weighed in high school was 150. She is already way above that. Will it prevent her from getting a job? Cause her health problems earlier than me? What is my role? Do I damage her self-esteem by encouraging her to change herself and set her up for a life time of “never being good enough?” Do I give her dirty looks and sigh every time she eats something that I don’t think is necessary?
And then there is the smoking. I LOVE SMOKING. I love taking time just for me. I love the way it tastes, I love the way it makes me feel. I love being a part of a small little “bad boy” group that society protests fervently against. I love that despite dedicating 98% of my life, time, thoughts, energy to being a mother—I have maintained one completely selfish outlet that serves no one but me. It’s like my last shred of independence and identity.
I know, reading back, that sounds absurd….but that’s how I feel. I feel as though most of my life is not my own. Most of my choices are already made for me before I get out of bed. I know what time I have to wake up and get ready. I know what kids I have to get dressed and carry to the car. I know what time I have to be at work. I know how fast I need to type. I know what food choices I have to pick from to make dinner that night (something easy, because I will be tired, but balanced….and something for Ryan.) I know which kid will ask to watch Ed, Edd, and Eddy at 9:30 pm….Ryan. I know which kid will fight bedtime and sneak back into the living room to watch TV with her brother….Bekah. I know who wants Apple Juice, Chocolate Milk, and Dad’s pop (diet mountain dew)….Olivia, Bekah, and Ryan. Aside from smoking, and choosing my food, the only control I feel as though I have sometimes is picking out my clothes in the morning. Everything else is already decided for me, or controlled by someone else (a.k.a. one of my kids). SO, when someone tells me that I have to stop smoking, it makes me mad. I feel as though they are telling me that I am not even entitled to that one little thing, and in order to be a “good mother” I need to check that 2% I had been holding in a death grip at the door as well. I have to sacrifice everything in me and just live vicariously through serving the children’s wants, needs, and whims. It’s a little childish rebellion I guess. I need to just suck it up and get over it. Quitting needs to be done. I know this. I need to substitute it for something else. But what? I’m not supposed to eat, I can’t drown my stress in Jell-O Pudding’ Pops or Nestlé Drumsticks. I have too many kids and not enough time to take up Origami. I don’t have enough money to start a shopping addiction. I suppose I could start exercising, reluctantly. Kill two birds with one stone. But that will take some time as well. First I have to convince myself that I LIKE exercising, and then I have to trick my mind into thinking that I am looking forward to it, and, finally, I have to find time to do it. There is time. It’s much, much easier to find 100 excuses NOT to do it, I’ve got that down to about 2 minutes even…but this whole “walking” crap is at least 30 minutes each day. I know, I know….If I “loved” myself I would make it a commitment, because it’s good for me….good for my soul. My soul is tired. Being a mother, a co-worker, a daughter, a wife—it’s a hard job, it wears me out…and at the end of the day the only thing I want to do is just put in my ear plugs and drift away. Not put on my jogging shoes and walk briskly around the block in 98 degree stagnant heat.
health, smoking, weight, blood pressure
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