I miss my body.
Maybe it's all these zumba classes I'm taking where I just can't make my hips roll like they used to or get my feet to keep time but I'm struggling with just how much I took a healthy body for granted. I'm not entirely sure my bum was meant to rotate like that. At least not without a "wide load" warning or those automatic back-up beeping noises to alert those around me.
I miss the tight jeans I used to rock out in during High School, the adorable dresses and skirts that caused all production to stop whenever I walked into the warehouse during that summer job. But it's not all about how I used to look.
I miss not panting after running up the stairs or being able to hold that crouch just a little bit longer. I miss being able to shop in normal stores and fit into mainstream styles that don't involve muumuus or other creative ways to disguise the fact that I've had three kids.
I miss my arm.
The Friday Confessional is about admitting the truth, right? This is perhaps the hardest truth I have.
I miss being able to reach that top shelf with both hands, not having to get creative when the occasion calls for uplifted arms, or successful attempts to shake hands with someone from a seated position. Every time I drop a basket of laundry because my shoulder gave out, I miss it. Every time I can't sleep at night because a storm front is moving in and my shoulder throbs, I miss it. Every time I can't carry a sleeping child upstairs to bed because it requires two arms, I miss it.
I try to convince myself that I don't miss having two working arms, that I've compensated after all these years. Heck, I've lived most of my life now as the Bionic Woman. People who have known me for years still don't know there's anything wrong or are surprised when they find out because I don't dwell on it, don't bring it willingly. But the truth is...I miss it.
I always will.