I will admit, I occasionally check things out in the mirror before I get into the shower (if I'm lucky to GET a shower but that's a separate issue...) Upon inspection one day, I noticed my facial expression as I pinched, pushed, pulled, and tugged...I look confused, defeated, depressed, and pissed all at the same time. What the hell happened to me? Is that seriously MY ass? No...when did we get Boticelli art in the bathroom??? Now, I don't look TERRIBLE by any stretch of the imagination, that much I do know. But I certainly won't be asked to be in any calendar spreads or wet tshirt contests anytime soon (not that I ever was in the past mom!!!! Just making a point...) And if my college cheerleading coach could see me now, he'd weep. He'd rage, cry, curse the heavens, and likely run away screaming. WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED??????
Motherhood. That's what happened to me. My lovely little parasites have done this. I was their host, and they have destroyed me (ok, destroyed might be a bit too strong but it sounded more poetic, don't you agree?) They've given me scars in places people don't talk about at parties (at least no parties I attend). They've caused my ass to start slowly running down the backs of my legs. Their wriggling little bodies stretched my skin so grotesquely, one may wonder if it is in fact a map of the Chicago interstate system on my hips and thighs. And don't even ask about my breasts....I can't even call them that anymore. They don't deserve to be called breasts. I lovingly refer to them as either: my "rocks in socks" or my "naval ornaments" or I often joke that I can tuck them into the waistband of my low-rise jeans...super sexy alongside my muffin top. Let's just say that if I needed to itch my nipple, I now need to lift the hemline of my skirt for easier access. Seriously, what the hell happened????? Ok, I am not blaming this whole thing on my angels (it sure does make me feel better though) Afterall, THEIR existence was MY choice. But getting older was NOT. I am going to fight that bitch Mother Nature every step of the way. Whore. How come men get more handsome with age, and we women get....old? I can't tell you how many times in my 20's I heard that EVERYTHING changes once you hit 30. I laughed when I hit 30 and I could still feel my ass where it was intended to be. I didn't have to roll up my boobs so that they could fit in my bra. I didn't shy away from sleeveless shirts because my arms looked toned. But then it slowly happened. The great "Ass Pangea" went into affect...it started separating from where it began and sliding south. The boobs?...you know. And now my arms keep waving even though I have stopped. I think about Girl Scout Cookies and gain 8 pounds. I used to be able to eat anything I wanted anytime I wanted. Food, gravity and time are my enemies now...and having housed 3 beings for a grand total of 861 days of my life.
Of course after my thorough inspection of every little stretch mark and dimple, I began to wonder if there is any mother out there who is truly happy with her body? It goes without saying that I love my kids but I DON'T love what those little leeches have done to me (yes, I'm that shallow). I don't buy into the "these are my mothering battle scars" or "I am woman, hear me roar" bullshit. Good for you, She-Ra; I don't know about you but I want my boobs back in their firm and upright position and my ass to climb it's flabby way back UP my thighs thank you very much. If you ARE one of those moms who is happy with how you look, PLEASE share your secrets. BUT if you're one of those evil, awful bitches who just happens to walk out of the hospital in your size 4's a mere 72 hours after giving birth, bite me. Kiss my flabby ass and bite me. (but do continue reading our blog, we're oh-so-appreciative of your patronage).
But seriously, will there come a day when I'm 100% happy with what becoming a mom as done to me? Will I ever accept the fact that once you've breastfed 3 children, nipples just "go that way"???? No one told me that they would become the size of dinner plates. I'm wishing for the day when I can stop picking my "naval ornaments" up off of the floor before putting my bra on. Someday I will stop pretending I think the moms who use "lotions" for stretch marks are wasting their time and money, because I secretly want that magic elixir too. Yes, I realize I'm whining. I KNOW it could always be worse. But doesn't every mom, or every WOMAN for that matter, have at least one little thing she'd like to change or fix or have back to it's original shape, elasticity, color, and form????? Maybe I am feeling this way because those marketing bastards at Target littered their ad this week with swimsuits. I bet that was the stellar idea of a "20-something" who has never had children with 6 pack abs and boobs that don't hit her knees when she takes her bra off. I'm tempted to boycott Target as a result...In the meantime I will continue to attempt to fight the effects of time and motherhood. If that doesn't work, does anyone know where I can get a head-to-toe body slimming garment?