Day 195 – foot vs. hand

For the record, before I finally tell you the story between last week’s two paintings, today’s “first” was a girly one that C. will have to accept: I used tinted facial cream for the first time. I’m not a fan of make up, as I always feel like my face is going to start cracking like plaster if I grimace (which I do a lot). The tinted cream did feel much better than that, but it also didn’t cover up as much as make up would have. Oh well, still a nice compromise I think. Continue reading

Day 194 – gender clich├ęs

Today’s “first” was going to be my totally brilliant confetti nail polish, but C. said that didn’t count as I already had a nails “first” once (or, as he put it, “You’ve decorated your nails before!”). I reckon he only said that to get me to agree to the “first” he’d suggested – which couldn’t be more different from doing my nails…
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The strange priorities of our times

I’d like to share something slightly off-topic. It’s been playing on my mind lately, so please bear with me.

I’ve never been particularly sporty and I do love good food, so I’ve always been somewhat on the chubby side. But now that I’ve had a baby, my body has changed. Yes, I’m still carrying some pregnancy pounds around with me but it’s more than just that. Pregnancy makes your entire pelvis wider and it never quite returns to how it was. A mother may be up an entire shoe size. Guess what, breasts also look a bit different once they’ve done what they’re intended for: fed a baby, not just made for a nice cleavage… Stretchmarks all over my belly, a nasty scar from the caesarean…

Anyhow, the details are irrelevant. Point is, my body looks different than it did two years ago and chances are it will never be the same again. Excuses, excuses, some people will say now, quoting certain models and actresses and maybe even friends of theirs who were back to their pre-baby bodies within months of giving birth.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am making it too easy for myself, saying that I just don’t have time for a lot of exercise, that breastfeeding is to blame for my chocolate cravings and that sometimes a quick unhealthy snack is all I manage between feeding, bathing, changing, playing and singing. Maybe that means I am a woman who lacks discipline. Maybe it means I’m an unhealthy hedonist. But I’m fairly sure F. doesn’t care about that. Continue reading