My belly

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The other day I was standing in front of William as he was sitting, facing me, on the bed. "Mommy," he said, putting his hands on both sides of my belly, "your belly is amazing." He was smiling and looked totally blissed out.

"Mommy's trying to make her belly smaller." It was a reflex reaction. Something I think about every time I put food in my mouth or look at a menu.

"NO, no, no, no, no, no, no mommy!!!!" He cried. "Mommy, it is amazing! I love your belly." Then he lifted up my shirt and kissed it.

How often do we stand in front of the mirror tearing ourselves apart. How often do we think I'm too fat, have too much acne, I hate my wrinkles, if only . . Our spouses tell us that they love us no matter what - but they know that they have to say that, so our thoughts go, so it doesn't really count. Our teenagers tell us that we look wonderful when we are dressed up, but they don't want to hurt our feelings, do they? But a four-year-old's thoughts are pure. They haven't learned what they are supposed to say, they just say what they feel. What William taught me is that while I may be unhappy with some superficial thing, those around me, those that love me, they love me for me, belly and all.

Change

I believe that the gorgeous, huge, most perfect climbing tree in the world ash in my front yard has become infected by the emerald ash borer. For those of you out of the loop, the emerald ash borer is native to Asia and about ten years back it started decimating trees in Canada, moved to Michigan (where it's killed tens of thousands of trees) and made its way into Ohio and other states a few years back. The first case of it in my county was identified in front of my dentist's office last year. Once infected, trees defoliate from the top down until they totally die off. It can be treated, but in a grand old tree like the one in my yard the cost can get up into the $500 range. When I called the Ohio Department of Agriculture to see if they could do anything, I was told that when the tree got cut down I had to burn the wood in my county. I don't want to have to cut it down! I love my tree!

I Don't Like Change. Never have. Don't think I ever will. Yes, it's essential for growth and all that jazz and yadda yadda yadda, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. I will not like the large expanse of lawn that we will have in a few years time, though my roses, which are currently partially shaded by my Fabulous Ash, will.

Actually, there are a few types of change I like:

I like the song "Changes" by David Bowie. But then I like anything that has to do with David Bowie. His eyes are amazing. The album "Young Americans" is on my top 10 list (I love the funk). The man knows how to dress, and he appears in one of my top 10 ridiculous comedies, "Zoolander." So there you go.

I like it when you buy soda and too much change comes out of the dispenser.

I do enjoy new clothing, which is a change, but I don't like changing rooms.

Winter changing to spring is my favorite time of year.

I think I would like the sort of change that would come if the wealthy uncle I never knew I had but somehow knew and loved me left me several million dollars. Or even several tens of thousands. I'm not too picky.

But I don't like to change my hair or the type of car I drive. When buildings come down it unnerves me. When U2 changed to pop music it took me two albums to admit that they were just as good.

I'm getting better about it. I think that the older you get the more you are forced to accept that the world isn't set on idle. People, places, everything is in constant flux and I can't stop it. New changes can lead to new comforts and loves and pleasures and who can complain about that? Hmmm, I guess I can, or I wouldn't be writing this post.

How do you deal with change?

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I am firing my mirror. It really should learn how to lie.

So when you look at the picture above and then read the article below, remember that pictures can be manipulated and really great imaging software and filters exist. And I own them.

Lately I have not been loving mirrors. When I don't look in them I feel pretty good; I go about my life doing my mommy things, living life, and sometimes feeling, well, pretty bored. This is when I start to remember silly things that happened in medical school or high school and they don't seem like they happened that long ago. In fact, I often find, myself thinking, "I'm almost 40. How did that happen?"

Time is funny like that. It creeps up on you. In my head I really haven't aged at all through the years. My thoughts may be more mature and I may do the things that adults do every day, i have kids and a house and responsibilities and all of those grown up type things, but it feels like nothing internally really has changed as the years have gone by, save a few new aches and pains.

Then a mirror creeps up on me. I'll have to go to the bathroom, and there it is. Or I'll be shopping for underwear or cat food, minding my own business, go around the corner, and there one will be, assaulting me with its presence. First thing in the morning, it can be so shocking as to completely wake me up. I have nothing against growing older, I just don't like what it's doing to that previously young woman in the mirror.

Her skin isn't as bright as it used to be and she has age spots on her cheek. There are crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and a furrow as deep as the Grand Canyon between her eyebrows. Her hair isn't as full, her eyes are starting to look tired. That woman in the mirror is starting to look old.

It's not an easy thing to come to terms with. I am really starting to understand why plastic surgeons and dermatologists are so busy. I've found myself looking at skin creams, at a loss for what to buy to get back that glow, and pretty amazed at the prices. And knowing that if I had the money to spare, I'd definitely have a medicine chest full of them.

It's not like this all happened overnight, one night I went to bed looking like a dewy skinned 22-year-old, and the next morning I looked in the morning a withered crone, but it's just been more evident lately. I've spent a lot of time trying to wrap my head around the fact that when I try to talk about my childhood with William he can't even comprehend that I was ever little. Or young. Or even a teenager like sissy. I'm old in his eyes.

I am getting older. I know that you are only as old as you feel, and I don't feel old, but the mirrors tell me otherwise. How do you get through those initial days of disbelief, quit obsessing about it, and just get on with your life?

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