The Swim To My 50s – I Prefer to Belly Laugh

Happy-Baby-10-Ways-Make-Babies-Laugh

When was the last time you belly laughed?  I mean, really laughed?  The kind of laughter that results in peculiar noises coming out of your mouth, nose or any other orifice, that you can’t believe can come from your body.

It had been a while since I had one of those times, that is, until last Thursday.  I will spare you the long details but let’s just say that my girlfriend and I could not look at each other without bursting into a hysterical seizure-like fit consisting of coughing, wheezing, snorting, choking, passing gas (not me, my friend) and crying.  It came over us like a tsunami and there was no stopping it.
 
Let me tell you, my abs were aching for the next couple of days.  That’s when it came to me.  Who needs sit ups {I wasn’t going to do them anyway} or swimming when you can laugh hysterically 3-4 times a week?  Yes!  What better way to welcome my 50s in September, than with tight-ass abs!!
 
As I continued inspecting my body in preparation for the big day, I had to address my mid-section.  It’s definitely been through hell and can be called a war zone  The first battle occurred at the age of 10. 
We had just moved to Amherst, MA from Puerto Rico, after my father had gotten a position at Umass.  We understood some English but were not even close to being able to form intelligible sentences.
 
My siblings were all playing inside and I wanted to play outside.  I went outside and saw that my next door neighbor whom I will call Steven {because that was his name} was also playing.  I believe he was a year or two older than me.  I decided to approach him and for some incredibly bizarre reason I’ve yet to understand, ask him if he wanted to fight me.  In my broken English, I dared him to hit me first.
 
Now, before you go judging me, I was very much a girly girl growing up.  I loved my Barbies,  my Easy-bake oven and everything pink.  I have no idea where this tough tomboy-ish persona of mine had been hiding and why it decided to come out on that day.
 
Steven was terrified.  Probably because he knew of his demise once his very strict German father heard that his son had hit a girl or equally terrified by the realization that my two very protective brothers and strict Puerto Rican father, were nearby.  But, I continued to egg him on.  Com-on, es-Steven, ju no hit me?  He kept shaking his head no, but after a while, I could see that he was considering it.
RF-Graphic-from-DrawShop-tough-pink-sexy-attractive-girl-woman-with-boxing-gloves-fighter-against-breast-cancer-and-says-fight-like-a-girl-71985-10  
Finally, after my relentless harassing, he took a strong (and may I say quite painful) swing with his fist and punched me right in the stomach.  I stood there in paralyzing pain, wanting to double over, but did everything in my 10-year-old power NOT to show that I was hurt.  I simply smiled at him and told him that I had to get something in my house but that I would be right back.  I walked calmly towards my front door, opened it, stepped in, closed the door and gave out a screeching earth-shattering wail, from the intense pain I felt.  Needless to say, I never went back out.
As predicted, poor Steven got quite the talking to by his German father and my brothers and strict Puerto Rican father, did run out to yell at him after seeing me so distraught.  Even after admitting to everyone that it was my fault and that I had started it, he was punished for hitting a girl.  Oops.
My other mid-section battles were not brought on by any tomboy-ish tendencies.  One battle in particular was brought on by the complete opposite.  It was inspired by a strong maternal, womanly desire to make babies. After three pregnancies and two beautiful children, the scars speak for themselves.  These are not scars from a C-section since I did not have one, but scars from the dreaded stretch marks! Just so you know, I am first on the list at my cousin’s plastic surgery practice, to go under the knife when they figure out a way to get rid of them!  
To add to my diverse looking stomach, I have since had gall-bladder surgery and a splenectomy (removal of your spleen).  Yes, you can still live without these two organs.  But, can you live with the scars?  🙂  The splenectomy scar is a doozy and takes over my entire abdomen.  Not a pretty sight and the main reason I do not have a belly button ring!  I feel so deprived of this right to bear rings!
DSCN4481 - Version 2
 
Above is a picture of me during a Halloween party sporting my one and only, ‘belly button ring’ (nice bikini, huh?).
I have come to accept the looks and shape of my mid-section and will continue to belly laugh all the way to my grave.
 
 
 
 

4 thoughts on “The Swim To My 50s – I Prefer to Belly Laugh

    1. I’ve got quite the abs in that picture. 🙂 The good thing about a hearty belly laugh, is that you can keep replaying what made you laugh in your mind over and over again and continue to chuckle for years to come.

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