The Fluffy Stuff

 Here I am, 117 pounds lighter than my heaviest weight.  I never thought I would see 200 anything on the scale.  Yo, real talk.  I am feeling some sort of way about my body.  The skin on my legs is loose and shaky and makes these weird folds where fat used to fill them to the brim and beyond.  My triceps have fallen down.  I convinced my son that it allows me to wave at him twice (two for the price of one!). 

Yesterday, I looked down at my breasts that were pooled in my bra that is now too big.  I moaned audibly as I saw that the fluff is gone, but the skin is there.  My boobs look like deflated balloons when they used to look like ripe eggplants or melons.  I am trying to say it doesn’t matter, but it does to me.  I immediately thought, “I will be getting that lift breast before I’m 50!”  I used to wear a size 42 H.  I am now a 34 DDD.  In a bra, my girls still look good, but when it’s just me and them, they look like they’ve lost their fluffy stuff.  They are flat and drawn (thanks to years of nursing) and I am not happy when I look at them.  

Now, I know that the fluff was fat.  I get that.  I don’t want the fat back, even in my backside.  But, I miss my girls.  More importantly, I dislike the feeling I have when I look at them.  We can’t have it all, at least not naturally.  I did not know that I would lose first in my lady lumps and my humps, but alas, that’s where I started shrinking first, followed by my fingers (WTF).

I want to be satisfied with whatever number I see on the scale and with whatever shape is before me in the mirror.  Will I always find something that needs improvement?  Will I ever arrive at my destination of true contentment with my body?