Fat and Beauty

Let me start this by saying how much I hate the word fat and all the things associated with it. Yes, I've called myself a fat ass...and I probably will again. Do I really think I have a fat ass? I guess it depends on the angle...or the jeans.

No, seriously. Am I overweight? Yes...for my height and build I weigh more then I should. Probably more then is healthy. Okay, for full disclosure, at the doctor's office today I weighed in at 177lbs. Fully clothed with flip flops on.
What is the 'magic' number for my height and age?

135lbs. Yep, really. (according to the weight watchers website)

Some people would consider 135 to be fat and others, like me, are thinking that is crazy!

The term fat, in regards to the human body, is probably one of the most hurtful words in the English language. It's one of the few words that can take someone from feeling great about themselves to wanting to dive in to a gallon of ice cream, in 2.5 seconds. And it's not even doing it directly...obviously I would never tell anyone 'oh, you're fat'...and I don't think I have ever had anyone say that to me, directly. Of course there was the time I asked Jared if I looked fat or pregnant in a certain shirt, to which he replied "You don't look pregnant" Nice. What can I say, he is honest to a fault.

A friends blog made me think about how parents have a huge influence on the way we see ourselves and how it's part of our lives we don't talk about. I refuse to discuss my weight with my mother. Not because she is hurtful or mean but because while she means well, she stirs up a lot of insecurities for me. I never told her how much I gained while I was pregnant and I won't tell her I'm doing Weight Watchers. Before I was pregnant she said to me "We need to go walking and lose weight". Like I said, I never once mentioned weight to her...and yet, indirectly, she made me feel like a heifer. Was she just trying to help? Of course, but she wasn't. She made indirect comments like that throughout my childhood, I can remember being in 1st grade and refusing to wear jeans because, and I quote, they made me look fat. Yep, 7 years old and I thought I was fat. I didn't put on a pair of jeans until I was 12. My mom didn't tell me I was fat, but I watched her put so much work in to how she looked that I thought I had to live up to that.
Those of you who know my mom are probably laughing b/c you've seen her with no bra, no teeth, no make-up...lol...but growing up (before we moved), the woman didn't leave the house without her hair done and her makeup on. It took me until last year to go to the grocery store without make up. I always told myself it was b/c I felt better if I looked nice, which is true to an extent. What I didn't realize was that I didn't have to always look perfect to be considered beautiful.

Beauty...

It's not about what size clothes we wear or if we can show off our bodies in a bikini. It's about what makes us happy and makes us feel good about ourselves. I'm not sure what that is for me yet. I know I don't like not being able to fit in to my clothes, I know I would like to be able to go shopping without wanting to throw my shoe at the dressing room mirror. I don't have a magic number for myself...I am hoping that when I get there, I'll know it.