Lordy, Lordy, Look Who’s Forty!

Age 6

Dear body,

We have a pretty big day coming up tomorrow. It’s been a long time since we talked, old friend. I hope you still consider me your friend. I’ve known you from the moment I was a twinkle in my mother’s eye and   we’ve been together through thick and thin, literally and figuratively (can I put in a request for a little more of the latter in the literal department?). I could pick you out of a line up any day just seeing a hint of you, the freckles dotting your cheek, the distinguishing mole gracing your finger or the scar marking your back.

I should probably start out with an apology. I’m not sure when I decided you were an object of my hatred. When I was young, I believed you’d do anything, be anything – that we could conquer the world and look damn good doing it.

But lately we have that kind of relationship where I’m pushing, demanding and judging while you put up with it — at times more silent than others. I have judged your worth by a number – from the size jeans your curves pour into to the tell-tale digits staring back from a scale.

I’ve spent years feeding you ingredients I can’t pronounce, subjecting you to a demanding schedule and stress, despite your repeated attempts to help me make you better. You cry out in fatigue, sickness and injury and I still ignore you, adding it as one more way you’ve failed me.

I’ve chosen to be disgusted at the roundness of your stomach rather than awed at the five children it stretched to accommodate and the millions of belly laughs that rumble from its depths. I’ve scolded you for legs too slow, eyes too squinty, breasts too small, hair too flat, skin too moley, arms too flabby, brain too deficient and entire being too needy.

I’ve given the mind all the glory, choosing it over the instincts and cues you continue to send. I’ve blamed you for everything from heartbreak to heat exhaustion, without stopping to see my part in it.  I even let you take the blame for the loss of my baby, believing you had failed me when I needed you most and determining you an enemy not worthy of trust.

Almost 40!

Today as we leave a new decade and tomorrow start a new phase of life, I’m ready to make amends. I want to see what you’ve given me. Those slow legs have carried me hundreds of miles running, never once giving out. They take me for walks on the beach or spend hours supporting me in fancy heels — they even held the cable as I lept off that 14 story bridge.

Those squinty eyes open to see the world, offering me colorful visions of everything from Facebook to my own children. They close to protect me from overstimulation and to guide me to my inner visionary.

The breasts too small are part of what make me feel like a woman, offering bumps and curves in my clothing and making my silhouette sassy. They spilled milk, reminding me of the miracle of creation and prodding me to feed those precious babies I birthed.

My mole ridden skin allows for hours spent in the sun, soaking up vitamin D, a beautiful coloring and a precious sense that all is right with the world. It stood as my first line of defense, protecting me from the burning rage of fire that fateful day in October and leaving me the scar as a reminder of its loving sacrifice.

Those flabby arms come in handy lifting and caring for others, stretching out for a sun salutation or greeting a friend in a warm embrace.

And while it doesn’t always remember everything, the brain might not be to blame for that D in college.

It’s been hard for me to accept that we’re no longer young and invincible. But I’m seeing that were any part of you to leave me, I’d longingly miss it. I’m also maturing to the idea that we won’t always be a team, one day we will separate. And I hope that day finds us friends, having taken good care of each other.

This fall I marveled as I watched progressive x-rays showing you grow bone to replace what I had broken. This isn’t a gift shop, “you break it you buy it” setup, there’s so much healing power within you. I’m truly amazed.

As we leave behind traditional youth, I plan to spend our time loving you gracefully. I plan on hearing you out through moments of meditation, noticing the daily miracles of pulsing blood through my veins and drawing the breath of life without so much as a thought from me.

I plan to push you with new adventures you haven’t tried before, dancing and daring, sailing and surfing, racing and reading. And I will continue to show you tough love when you try to use your nervousness to stay in a comfort zone.

I plan to feel that spine and backbone a little more and use it to stand up for myself and others.

And mostly, I plan to celebrate you rather than denigrate you. We make a pretty good team, you and I. And I’ve returned to the idea that we can be anything, do anything and look damn good doing it.

Just one request — I know you’re trying to help me going into overdrive with wheezing and sneezing to protect me from pollen and cats, they’re really not that dangerous. I think I can take them :)

All my love,

Mel