So I've put on quite a lot of weight over the past few years. Polite friends and acquaintances always make smooshy 'mmm, aaaah, oh I wouldn't say so' kind of noises whenever the topic comes up. But it is a fact, I am now about 10 kilograms heavier than I was 10 years ago, give or take a bit. It's just extra stuff I carry about with me.
It's funny that it keeps coming up with these polite friends and acquaintances. Conversations about weight seem to happen often - it's amazing how many times a new woman acquaintance will basically introduce herself by telling us all about her various food, weight and body issues. I do it too, I know. I don't think it's such a good idea, really, but it seems to be part of ordinary life.
So we talk about our bodies; post pregnancy, after starting postgraduate study, after being in the public service for a few years, back when we were young, after an unhappy love affair. We talk and talk and talk about it. We emphasise our bad points and wax nostalgic about ones we imagine were good back in the day.
Some people talk about their exercise regimes. One woman runs home from work, one cycles and swims every day, one runs up various mountains around Canberra. I know all about it. I know all about which treats people cannot say no to. I know all about the social value of walking to the coffee shop for a morning caffeine and sugar hit with the work crew. I know all about the work events that centre on cake or sausage rolls.
But I'm getting a bit tired of it all, actually.
You know what my body did once? It grew a baby. How ace is that? You know what else it does every single day? It lets me smell and taste and see and read and think and work and listen to birds and look at all the people around me and notice things. Thank you, body, I love you very very much. I will try and make it easier for you to do all those ace things by remembering to take good care of you, just like I take good care of other things I love.