Once upon a time...

I was a skinny bitch. And before you freak out, I'm not bragging. This is about to get all kinds of self deprecating so just sit tight, mkay? Here's the thing, I had absolutely zerooooo control over this fact. Hello? High school metabolism? Where the HELL did you run off to? Was it something I said drank? Oh, right. Beer. And wine. And Tequilla. Margaritas. Did I say beer? I did? Oh. So maybe it's not that big of a mystery after all...

Anyway, here's what I've decided after 26 years on the planet. My worth is not tied up in my waist size. And in a relatively new, healthly living, fitspiration, just KEEP RUNNING TILL YOUR THIN universe, this hasn't always been true. Maybe it's my age. Maybe it's finally realizing I really should work what my momma gave me. Whatever it is, I'm sitting here today, on the other side of "whose body is this?" and I'm happy to report that I'm just that: I am happy! With every extra pound and un-toned muscle I'm cursed lucky enough to call mine. Jesus still loves me, so why shouldn't I? He's got this sh*t way more figured out than I do!

Could I eat better, and go to the gym, run marathons (HA!) and do all those cool hipsters things (except for CrossFit, OMG don't even get me started...), sure. And some days, weeks, I do. But that doesn't make me a better person. It doesn't even always make me happy. Other days, like today,  I already have a 12 pack in the fridge. I'm anxiously awaiting for the Rangers game to start and for my hunka-hubby-worker-drone to get his butt to the homestead so we can enjoy a few together. And guess what? THAT'S. O-K.

I went to work today. My dogs have been fed/played with. I put some laundry in the dryer (for the fourth time. Stop judging me). And if I'm being completely honest, the LAST thing I am thinking about is getting bikini ready. I.just.don't.CARE.

I'm not turning my nose up at all you health conscious, clean eating, do gooders out there. Do you boo boo. Follow your arrow wherever it points. Do I think some days you are lying? Yes huh. No one likes not eating ice cream. Don't even try to convince me otherwise. I don't believe in Scientology either. But that's really neither here nor there. Except that both concepts seem completely outrageous.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Love yourself. Whether you're in a newly fit body, one that's sporting an exaggerated body part (side eyes to my gigantic ass that did NOT exist before 2009),  or growing a new person (here's looking at you baby mommas!), it's YOUR body. And it's just that. A body. You are a SOUL. Although you may try, you can't dictate the vessel you were given when you arrived in the world. We can control what we do with it. Me? I choose to write rambly* blogs with seemingly no direction as I try to figure out what my life is about. I choose to cuddle my baby nugget niece/nephews. I choose to eat popsicles for breakfast more often than I should, and stay up way too late making memories** with my best friend. And I'm good with that. Kapeesh?

Let's make a deal. You be you, and I'll be me. And if that looks like sit ups and kettle bells at 5 am, terrific! And if it looks like, cookies for dinner...we are probably already best friends. Let's STOP trying to be each other, and work on being the best version of ourselves. Stop with the never ending comparisons and start loving being YOU. Because sugar tits? I already think you're the bomb diggity. 

Happy Tuesday my sweets!

Always,

L

*spell check tried to tell me this isn't a word. That skank has obviously never been to my blog before. Read a book blogger, this is happening.

**Sex. Sorry mom!