The Chub

Sometimes my husband says just the right thing.

 

Like this morning. This morning, when I was struggling with the chub.

 

Those who know me best know that I struggle with the chub. I have literally struggled with the chub the entirity of my life, the only exception being birth when I weighed in at a whopping 6 pounds and 13 ounces. My mother likes to tell the story that the only time I was quiet as a baby was when there was a bottle in my mouth. That about sums it up.

 

In 1st grade I was told by a kid that my thighs looked huge. In 6th grade, I was tormented on a daily basis by another boy. He called me "Sarappotomus." And when I would cry he would say, "Hey, I thought fat people were supposed to be jolly." In the 10th grade, a boy I had asked to a dance told me I had no redeeming qualities.

 

It sucked, even though for the most part, most kids were just my friends.

I have beaten the chub at various intervals of my life. The first time I was 16 and a sophomore in high school. The comment by that boy I had asked to a dance sparked a fire in me. And so I signed up for Weight Watchers and within six months dropped 50 pounds. I swore I would never gain it back. And while I have actually never been that weight again - with the exception of my pregnancy - I still struggle.

 

I go up and I go down. And the chub remains, especially around my middle, and I hate it. I hate that it causes me to doubt my will power, my strength, my beauty, and sometimes even my worth.

 

 Sometimes the voice that lives inside my own head says really mean things about this body of mine. That voice is my arch nemesis. In fact, that voice is a mean little bastard. And I want the bastard to die. I can be a little dramatic. I know.

 

Sometimes this voice comes out of my own mouth. Like when I am getting dressed in the morning for work. And my husband usually just looks at me sternly and says, "Hey, be nice to my wife." Which is pretty damn nice.

 

But today was even better.

 

Today, when the bastard voice made an appearance, commenting about how the roundness of my stomach seemed magnified by a new dress, this husband of mine looked me square in the eyes and said:

 

"You look like a woman. A woman with all the right curves. And you're beautiful."

 

Just so we are clear, he could have just stopped at the "You look like a woman."

 

It was just the right thing. Perhaps ranking in the Top 3 things he has ever said to me.

 

I look like a woman.

 

Damn. I love him. I hope he knows.