Yesterday I got together with a group of 5 women I love. We try to do this about once a month, and B gives us prompts and we journal and then sort of chat about what we wrote. Honestly, I thought it was going to be a little too Stewart Smally (the SNL version). Despite myself by the end of each session, there's something new in my brain cells. And did I mention I love these women? Every single one is the kind you would do well to have as your closest friend.
This time our theme was Sexiness. The second prompt was the one I thought I'd kind of skip over: "Sexy. Hot. Hot & Sexy. How do these words make you feel? Do you identify with them?" Like when you look at a list of short essay answers, there's always that one that only requires a quick recitation of fact because you know what the teacher wants to hear.
But then I started writing...
J says these things all the time (God bless him) and most of the time I don't hear it much.
I look at nature and have no trouble admiring the way things have been set up, the way they look, the laws and magnitude. These are my constant entry to contemplating God in any way that approaches meaningful.
Why doesn't that apply to this closest, most direct outworking of nature in me- this body?
Becoming pregnant has so far meant a (further) loss of control. There's joy- throat constricting, heart squeezing jubilation- but this is also true. My person will change and my life will change and I wonder now if I will ever get where I thought I was going with either.
I thought I had a pretty good grasp of a proper relationship with my body.
Surrendering control has pointed out my unwarranted dependence on how it looks, not what it can do, as I had hoped.
Now, don't be sending me your leftover prozac just yet. Oddly enough, writing this did sort of help me admit how big (no pun whatsoever) pregnancy really is. So much of it right now is that I don't really know how "bad" it will get, or what it will be like to gain 25 to 50 pounds between now and 2006.