Who me? Complain?

Today, I promised my husband that I would stop complaining about the way that I look, especially about my body. This may sound optimistic, and even noble, but I can't say I've been entirely motivated by a sunny new appreciation of my post-pregnancy shape. It's more that I realize that, as I age (which, God willing, is inevitable), things will only go downhill. I will take care of myself, sign up for every new treatment and slather on every new cream, and fight a valiant fight, but ultimately, I will get older. There will be more to dislike. There will be sagging skin, wrinkles, age spots... Okay, now I'm getting depressed again. The bottom line is that, like most women, I've always complained about my body. I complained about it when I was 20 and everything was perky. I complained about it when I was 30, working out regularly, and in the best shape of my life. I complained about it a couple of years ago, at 35, shortly before I got pregnant. And I'm still complaining. With all the wisdom of my 37 years, I can now look back and say: "Hey, I looked good." (Or, at least, better than now). What was I complaining about? I didn't have a c-section scar or any of the other indignities that accompany pregnancy and childbirth. So now I realize that, 10 or 20 years from now, I will be doing the same thing - looking back at my post-pregnancy, 37-year-old body - thinking "I looked good." So, why wait until the future to appreciate the way I look. Why not start now. Today. After all, I have a baby girl to raise, and I want her to have high self esteem.

So, from now on, no more complaining about my body, or for that matter, my skin or my hair.

I wonder what I'll talk about now...