I Heart My Body 2012

A seemingly simple question: what do you love about your body? But given that I, as I imagine many of us, could write reams and reams about our bodies and our relationships with them, it's not such a simple question. I will try and keep it simple, however. 
I wouldn't say I love my body. Nor would I say I hate it. It's no longer something that occupies a lot of space in my head. Which is a welcome state of affairs, I can tell you. 
I don't think I've ever hated my body but for a long time we certainly weren't the best of friends. What I wanted from it (ie a few more inches in height, and many, many fewer inches around the thighs/bum area. Some of which could have migrated to my boobs, if they so desired) was vastly different to what it wanted to give me (the classic pear shape. With bonus cellulite). 
Somewhere along the way I stopped making such ridiculous requests. I guess I just accepted it for what it is. I try to be kind to it, and as my definition of it 'being kind' has changed, I can see that it is kind to me in return.
A few events had a hand in this transition.
1. I heard my grandmother, who was in her 70s and very trim, say she needed to lose weight. I remember thinking "god, am I still going to be worrying about weight in 50 years time? I fecking hope not" and vowed to stop fretting about it there and then. Which worked. Kind of. 
2. I left a job in which what you wore to the office was a daily consideration, and discussing fashion and female beauty part of the workload. Instead I started work on mine sites, where everyone wore the same gear and if your body ever came up for consideration (which was pretty much never), it was for what it could physically do, not how it looked. I didn't make this change with body image in mind, but it was an unexpected beneficiary.
3. I grew up. Realised there were better things to do than worry about a number on my jeans tag. 

In my dredge operator's uniform, circa 2009.
With an extra generous serve of grime
(I didn't normally get that dirty).

40 weeks pregnant in April this year.

So, what about my body makes me happy?
Aesthetically, my shoulders. My calves. My waist. As for other things:
1. It seems fairly resilient. I've never broken a bone, don't often get sick and my skin doesn't get eczema or other irritations, and copes well with the sun. 
2. I was able to get pregnant, be pregnant and then breast feed quite easily. My heart goes out to women who discover they don't have this luxury. 
3. The cursed pear shape can actually be a blessing, in health terms. Because extra fat makes a beeline (at the speed of light, it seems) to your butt, which apparently is better than having it build up around the organs in your mid section. 

So, here's my 'I Heart My Body' pic, taken last night in my togs.

After a week of balmy weather last night was bloody freezing.
It was a very quick photo shoot!

How do you feel about your body? What do you love about it?

Linking up with We Heart Life for this year's body love campaign.

Wordless(ish) Wednesday - Getting old

I used to have a dress just like these ones when I was about 10, only mine had sleeves and a way-cool belt with a kind of snap-in buckle. How I loved that dress.
(Apologies for the awful window reflections.)

 

Are you officially old when you see fashions come round the second time?

Once again, linking up with the amazing Trish from My Little Drummer Boys (check her blog and you'll see why she's amazing) for Wordless Wednesday again. Thanks Trish!

Slippery slope of slipper addiction

When you discover you're pregnant and start devouring all the baby-related information you can click a mouse on, you come across lots of items that start with 'no one ever told me...' To the point where you begin to assume "well I've read so much advice, from 'experts' and other mothers, I must be aware of, if not exactly prepared for, almost every possibility". WRONG. 
Despite all my research, there were some things no one told me. Like how having a baby in late autumn meant that seven weeks into being a mother I'd decide owning four pairs of slippers was a very good idea. 
I'd never before spared slippers much thought, other than having an aversion to those awful novelty type ones that look like dinosaurs or fluffy cartoon characters. 
Yet one morning I found myself thinking "gee I'm glad I've got each of my four sets of slippers". 

What my Snoozies looked like when new.
Photo credit: emersonstreethave.goldenbitgroup.com

I've got a pair of cheapy ugg boot-type ones from Kmart (cost eight bucks!) that are the warmest. Then there are my Snoozies, which are like thick, fluffy sockettes. Very quiet to walk in and soft and comfy, though their sticky, rubbery bits on the sole have you accusing people of spilling cordial everywhere. 
The third pair don't have anything around your ankle, so you can slip them on hands-free. Not the warmest, but great when you stagger out of bed for night feeds.
My last pair were (they've since died a crumbling, sole-shedding death) flip flops made of fluffy slipper stuff. They were just what I needed when it wasn't exactly cold, but too cool to go barefoot. 
Yes. Clearly I have too much time on my hands. 

Have you ever made a trivial, surprise discovery? Or am I the only one wasting brainpower on things like indoor footwear?

Previous post: She's here! Introducing Rose Amelia

Derrieres in demand

Pippa Middleton in the dress that launched her
bottom onto 'must-have' lists across the UK,
and probably elsewhere.
Image source: http://www.hoymujer.com/

Oh dear, this is a little concerning. According to news reports, oodles of British women are signing up to have their bottoms surgically reshaped into replicas of Pippa Middleton's rear.
The Brisbane Times says:

The frenzy surrounding Pippa Middleton's derriere has led to a spike in bookings for bottom-lifting treatments in Britain.
Since April's royal wedding, cosmetic surgeons have reported a 60 per cent increase for work on British backsides.
One cosmetic clinic has even named a surgery, The Pip Package Perfect Posterior, which can cost up £8000 ($12,000).
Middleton became known around the world for her buttocks during her role as maid of honour for her sister Catherine's wedding to Prince William on April 29 at Westminster Abbey.
"We are now seeing scores of female clients seeking the perfect bottom," Lesley Khan of London's Harley Street Skin Clinic told London's Daily Star.
"A few years back everyone wanted the Jennifer Lopez look, but now everyone asks for a bottom like Pippa's - curvy but not too peachy."

 This is all of absolutely zero use to me. Because even if I had the wish (and the cash) to put my bum under the knife, I doubt the engineering methods required to lift it have yet been developed. It's sheer girth and weight would make it an impossibility. (Unless they first carved slabs off it and attached them to my sorry excuse for a chest).
Regardless of the changes in fashion that take us from peachy-curvy rears to medium-curvy ones to whatever is next, mine will have to remain the kind that demands Bisley work pants in '92 Stout' size. Pulling on clothes that yell 'stout' at you every morning does wonders for a girl's self-esteem, I can assure you.

Do you think having surgery to get someone else's bottom is a tad ridiculous? If not, whose would you want?

Your wedding dress: trash or treasure?

This post was originally written in July 2009 and is another I've bought back for the Weekend Rewind at Life in a Pink Fibro.

Image source: www.trashthedress.com

Has anyone taken part in a ‘Trash the Dress’ event? If so, please tell me why otherwise sensible people partake in such a procedure.
Wondering what is a Trash the Dress, exactly? I did. A quick search on the net reveals it’s when a recently married bride puts the wedding dress back on, gets glammed up again, and proceeds to ‘trash’ the dress. As in, roll about in mud and surf, tip paint on it, massacre it with scissors and such like. While being photographed.
Also wondering why the hell any (presumably happily married) person would do that?
Apparently it serves several purposes: provides a chance to wear the dress one more time and do something else productive in it, rather than leave it hanging in the wardrobe for all eternity. The bride also gets some unique and stunning photographs (which don’t come cheap, what with the professional photographer following up the wedding with a handy little Trash the Dress package).
And – my personal favourite – it makes a statement that she is committed to her husband. That in destroying the wedding dress she’s saying she’ll never have need of one again. I’m sorry, but isn’t that message covered by vowing “to love and cherish, etc etc, til death to us part” and exchanging rings?
Call me old fashioned, but I simply do not understand how someone recently married can destroy the dress. If, some time down the track, the marriage has gone pear-shaped and it signifies nothing but painful memories, by all means take to it with shears and a soft-focus lens. But while it’s still a thing of beauty? Insanity.
Because, allowing for those few truly heinous creations that should never have left the designer’s imagination, most wedding gowns are beautiful. The heavy, forgiving fabric. The tiny buttons, delicate ribbons and ties. The bits of antique lace.
Sitting in a dark cupboard forever may seem like a waste. But at least it’s there and can be revisited and admired from time to time, much like a piece of art.
If I ever got such a notion in my head, the shooting would be done by my mother. And she’d use equipment much deadlier than a camera. She made my dress and I assume is just as satisfied to have it left in the wardrobe in peace. Her own dress, (which being from the ’70s leans dangerously towards the heinous category but is saved by its simple design and gorgeous fabric), also remains tucked up among tissue paper in her wardrobe.
Granted, scissors can be the best thing for the situation when a wedding gown has outlived the marriage. Take the dresses of three women in my family. These sisters each married and lived happily for a while. But the happiness didn’t last. Each split no doubt brought much heartache to their mother, but it did mean their dresses were up for grabs. Being a doll collector, she merrily cut and restitched the pieces into miniature gowns. And has since won several awards in the local show’s doll competition.
Of course, each woman is entitled to do as she pleases with her dress. And brides and the photographers do get some beautiful, striking photos from the trashing process. But honestly? It’s just indulgent.
I can understand the narcissistic attraction of starring in your own photo shoot and getting yet another set of beautiful portraits (because all the dosh you spent on the actual wedding photos just wasn’t enough). But justifying it as something more symbolic is simply a con. The same thing could just as easily be achieved by getting a gown from Lifeline and shredding it in front of the camera.