My body is currently experiencing some changes in real estate and the first to foreclose under threat of eviction has been my lap. I used to have a lovely, flat lap…a perfect spot for resting my hands, balancing a bowl of popcorn, holding a squirming child. I, of course, could barely see it for it lived just south of a beautiful chest which often obscured the view. Now it’s a clear shot…straight from nose to padded chin to drooping chest to the place where I used to have a lap.
It seems to have fallen victim to my body’s suburban sprawl sometime around the birth of my third child. From time to time in years previous to that, my lap would go AWOL. It would sublet the space to an expansive tummy that needed the space for a temporary tenant. But once the tenant vacated, my tummy would relinquish the lease and voila…there would be my lap. But since the last baby arrived, it appears my lap permanently changed its residence. It packed its bags, changed its address; it’s not coming home.
I have done all I can reasonably do to persuade my lap to come back. Diet and exercise…. tummy sucking pants…supportive undergarments…but it is defiant. Wherever it has gone, it appears there is nothing I can do to entice it home…and worse, my depression over its absence has driven me to console myself with sweets which have given my tummy the resources to upgrade…expand onto lap’s old lot to open up a new subdivision. I hear there’s talk of a joint venture with the thighs to take over the entire south side.
I never even noticed how convenient it was to have a lap until it was gone. I suppose it’s that way with most things. We appreciate them most in their absence. And now, I believe that waist and mind are soon to follow lap. They haven’t given notice, but I recognize the warning signs. I think they are waiting to see if the market turns around before they decide whether or not to bail, but at least now I can appreciate the time we have left together. Before I know it, they too will be gone, and I don’t want to look back with regret.
Besides, I’m growing accustomed to this real estate shuffle. By the looks of my chin and chest, everything is moving south, abandoning their old neighborhood. What a blessing it is then that my husband only sees potential appreciated value in my fixer-upper of a heart. It’s on the historic registry, after all.