49/51 me

Could barely get dressed this morning.
Hating my body.
Yet again, cliche.
I have to throw a shower for 15 women.  How many of them hate their bodies?
I put on my loudest leg-warmers and swishy skirt to try and fool myself.
It kinda works.

night surfing in Lake Powell

Even though I am not the one who's pregnant, I am overly aware of my stomach where Beckam used to live...wish I could scoop it out with a melon-baller.
He vacated 3 months ago, but there are still signs of his presence.
I wish I could find beauty in that fact, but I just want it to be "back to normal."
And no matter what kind of feminist spin I put on it, my brain cannot out-wit my eating disorder.
It is a constantly evolving opponent

At sunset, I go for a run.
I learned some stretches for my knees and they are feeling stronger.
My whole body knows what to do.  I've been doing this for 13 years.
Stepping out against the sludge of my self-loathing to reset and remember.
I remember the 1000's of miles my legs have traveled, through Paris, the Appalachian Trail, the Wasatch Mountains, and 50 miles in one day with the boy scouts.
I remember that I want to take my kids to the park and still hang up-side down on the monkey bars.

Moments after Pepper's birth

I remember night surfing in Lake Powell and knowing I could stand on the board...even at 7 months pregnant.
I remember the peak of labor, and the calm I felt because my body has proven itself.
I remember running the grey and unromantic streets of Murray City with Andrew when we first dated.
I remember Sophie's dad, Jeff and I teaching her to climb in southern Utah sandstone.
I remember the strength in his hands...and knowing she would have it too.
And I want it....and I found it again.
As I have hundreds of times.

We survived another day.  My body and I.
The eating disorder did not win.
We did.