Those last five pounds..

Or so.

Despite being an actress I am not one to obsess about the numbers - I never have been.  Perhaps I should have, but that's not really my style.  I eat well, I exercise...well, I did in my former life.

Here's the rub.

I did a silly thing today.  I woke up feeling good, feeling relatively trim and svelte for a nearly 40 lady with a 4-month old baby.  I woke up feeling good and decided it would be a smart idea to weigh myself.  I dusted off the old scale that was unearthed in the recent flood [yes, I said flood].  I stepped on.

And ruined the better part of my morning.

I am still wandering around wondering where the hell I picked up the extra 10 pounds I discovered this morning.  I feel in a funk about it in a way I didn't before I knew that stupid number.  I mean, I know I'm not at my tip top best being a busy mother of two only a few months post-partum.  I've been watching 'Rescue Me' lately and doing a little personal body-bashing - even though I think the women on that show are alarmingly thin - I mean, where did they find those actresses -- at an anorexia support group?  Seriously, if that is what I am supposed to look like I think I should quit now because at my best I was never thin like that.  And never really wanted to be.  It's like a race of sorts to see who can deny themselves the most, who can be the most hungry.  Well, I'm not interested in that race, but I would like to work again.  Hell, I'd like to fit into some of my clothes again.

Yes, I know it hasn't been that long but still.

Damned number.  I hate you.

It was all so much easier before when I kayaked a few times a week, had time for yoga and lifting.  When I slept more than 2 hours at a stretch.  I don't know how it happened - is it that inexorable accumulation that comes on slowly with age?  Can I get back from here?  That's my big question.  I mean, I was feeling pretty good before the number - so shouldn't I feel good despite it?  It's just so damned daunting, the idea of finding the time and energy to actually burn the 35,000 calories that will eat up that number.  Somehow I don't think the Obstacle Course on the Wii is gonna do it.

I guess the moral of this story is:  don't be stupid enough to break out the scale when your baby still doesn't even have teeth.

But you know, at the end of the day, I look at these two gorgeous girls.  Every smile line, every extra little soft curve belongs to me because of them.  And you know, that's okay too.

Well, mostly.

This Grown-Up Sh*t's for the Birds...

Life Insurance.

I'm pretty sure it is the most diabolical institution on the planet.  You can even get insurance on your insurance, that's how totally f*cked up that industry is.  And it's a surefire way to make you feel old and vulnerable and insignificant and angry and depressed and relieved all at the same time. 

There is something singularly depressing about being worth more dead than alive.  It's also a pretty big bummer to spend that kind of money on something you will never personally benefit from and hope never to collect.  Not to mention feeling the incredible bummer at having your life examined by a bunch of pencil pushers who can just turn around and deny you anyhow.

But you know, I'm a grown up now.  I need this kind of sh*t.

Ez and I were both in a tailspin the other day after purchasing our 'insurance product'.  Having someone delve into every little corner of how I live, down to the molecules in my blood felt invasive in a whole new kind of way.  I felt like some kind of angry rodent that had been backed into a little glass box, since it seems that everything that defines me and us as a couple seems verboten under this whole insurance regime.  So we are torn between protecting our family in the case of a tragedy and the tragedy of living life worrying that they might negate our insurance because we went scuba diving or back country skiing or...well, just about anything we deem to be fun.  They don't ask me if I eat organic or how often I eat red meat or McDonalds, but they sure wanted to know if I have a glass of wine after work. 

I seriously feel like I'm living in a sort of Orwellian nightmare sometimes.  Like we know just a little too much about everything nowadays.  They say we are caught on closed circuit TV up to 300 times a day now.  They know what's in our blood and our pee and our sweat.  They can analyze your hair and tell you more about you than your mother knows.  Or possibly even God (I mean really, how much time do they think the guy has since he's helping basketball players and football players win games and all?).  They know whom you've called and texted and emailed.  They know what you buy and where you buy it and how much money is in your left front pocket.

...and I'm not really sure I like it...

I don't have any really deep, murky secrets, but nor am I any babe-in-the-woods.  I live life and I live it consciously and well, with integrity and heart and I try to suck the marrow out and all that.  But it's pretty hard to live the life you've imagined if you aren't supposed to travel outside Canada and the US, or enjoy 4:20 or something.  And that kind of pisses me off.  And it makes me want to sell everything I own and pack up my kids and go backpacking in South America (well, I wanted to do that anyway).  I feel myself resisting all this grown-up sh*t with every fibre of my being -- and I was the one who was freaking out that we didn't have any life insurance.  If Ez were late and I couldn't reach him on his cell I would start to think 'Oh my god, we have no insurance!  He's dead somewhere and I'm f*cked!!'  But facing the reality of all this real-world grown-up blather really has me in a lather.  I feel like I should just give it all up and start wearing polyester track suits and thick-soled white shoes and take up something safe and insurable like shuffleboard. 

I fully appreciate that with your later years you have much to lose, and therefore insurance makes sense.  But egads!  I figure we are spending somewhere around $6000 per year in insurance.  $6000!! See what I mean?  That's a diabolical industry!!  You pay and pay and then when you hurt your hand and are off work they turn you down on a technicality.  It's pretty hard to trust them when you know the track record - but here's the rub: you need the f*ckers.  You really, really do.

Well, at least I think you do.


So here's my dilemma - do I live my cool, rad life and say 'f*ck the system! fight the power!' or do I join the whistling masses and buy into the whole plan; life insurance, estate planning, RESPs, RRSPs, GICs, WTFs...??  How do you keep your *cool* when you can't go out because you spent your allowance on life insurance?  Ugh.  It is an utterly unpalatable dichotomy.  I guess it's just the bitter pill you swallow when you care more about your kids than about yourself.

I just don't want to lose myself in the process.  I only get one kick at the can -- I don't want it to only contain purified water that has been FDA approved and is calorie and additive free.

Jezeez.  I gotta live a little.