I feel pretty.

Oh, so pretty.

I always felt witty and bright. And even though I came to the conclusion in my midtwenties that I need to appreciate being young and beautiful while it was happening and have been determinedly doing so since, something's different.

I feel fabulous. I feel curvy and strong and lush. My face is actually oval-shaped- who knew? I'm relieved that my chest came out the other end of the weight loss 2 cup sizes smaller and still looks fantastic. I'm fascinated by the muscle definition in my legs, how lovely my back is without the back fat on it, and my tush looks so awesome it defies written description. As much as I loved my body at its original size, being 50 pounds lighter and acclimating to the new body, I feel like I've unearthed a previously buried treasure. Wow, there are my collarbones- and there are my hip bones, huh- and when I lay down, I can feel my sternum- crazy! Never have I been so aware of how big-boned I am as when I can actually feel my bones. Not that I mind- not in the least. I have a body that was built to last, and I intend to do just that. We have a couple centegenarians in my family, and quite a few that made it into their nineties- I'm at least doing that.

Last month, I hit my weight loss goal and woke up the next morning not worrying about losing weight for the first time since I was about 7. I loved it. I loved the bone-deep comfort and happiness of really thinking I was perfect exactly as I was. A month later, I am happy to report that my weight is--- exactly the same. My pants are actually getting a little loose- again. I know, silly thing to complain about. I've spent the last month really feeling like my body is a temple to be worshipped instead of placated or battled against. Just that change in mentality is enough to make all the effort I put into getting this weight off worth it.

I am lush and curvy and strong and beautiful. It is a truly wonderful thing to be me.