As if my body hasn’t been through enough, I recently staged a nutty and caused it more suffering.
Within a twelve year period of time, I spent about 72 hours in active labor and gave birth to about 57 pounds of human being. Scattered in between those productive years were several surgeries and months of preterm labor. Then there was the whole kidney thing to boot. Put it this way, if the president handed out Medals of Honor for going above and beyond the call of duty, my body would be the first to receive the distinguished award. It has served me well.
Which is why it makes no sense for me to despise my stomach to the degree I do. Just because it resembles quilted northern toilet tissue with all the stretch marks and surgical scars doesn’t mean I have to swear under my breath every time I look at it.
But I do.
So when I stepped out the the shower the other day, I took drastic measures. I just had to know what it would look like to have a flat stomach because sucking it in wasn’t having the desired effect.
I rummaged through the medicine cupboard in search of the ace bandage wrap and then remembered that my children used it to build a fort. I ransacked my drawers looking for the girdle I bought in the early 90’s and then remembered that my children had used it as a huge sling shot when the trebuchet they built in the back yard failed to launch.
And that’s when I saw the roll of duct tape.
Honestly, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I pulled and tucked and carefully applied a few strips of the shiny tape. When I was finished I resembeled an hour-glassed shaped tin man. And it was good. I tried on every outfit I owned and was thrilled with the results.
When the fun was over, my closet sufficiently emptied and the clock announced that my children would soon be arriving home from school, I held my breath and pulled the first strip off.
It was the scream heard around the world.
Along with the tape came a full pound of flesh. No lie! I had no idea how effective that adhesive was! No wonder people use it to hold side mirrors on old pick up trucks. By the time I had all the tape removed, I felt like my stomach had been dipped in boiling water and I wondered how I would explain it to the ER doc when I went in requesting skin grafts.
The sick part is that I refuse to endure the pain of pilates but try stupid things like this. If only I could afford something more permanent and a little less redneck.
