Bodies

I like this guy in general, but then I read this blog entry and it annoyed me beyond belief. I think he is way off. He (a man, but an Oprah-therapist-lifecoach kind of man) suggests we (women) blame men (in general) for our self-image problems. Initially I had my weak moments of worrying about what pregnancy was doing (stretchmarks) and then not liking what pregnancy did to my body (mostly the residual belly bump), but I can tell you men have nothing to do with it. I think women are their own worst enemies when it comes to creating unrealistic expectations for their bodies (and other women’s bodies, for that matter). I think men will take what you give them, and they aren’t that picky. The trick is that you deliver it with plenty of belief in your own worthiness. Men are (generally-forgive me for generalizing, but this is MY experience talking here) attracted to women who have good self-esteem, are doing something they believe in and have interesting insights for conversation, and believe they are worth people’s time. They will look past thick thighs, small breasts, or a belly pooch (any of these things are turn ons for many men) if you carry yourself like a confident, competant WOMAN. And they will exclaim your hotness from the mountaintops. This is how a strong “fluffy” woman can be a super-hottie and how an ironic heroin-chic waif can be a complete turnoff. Self-deprication/fishing for compliments, even from attractive women, seems to scream “use me!”. I think men are more likely to fixate on a woman’s imperfections if she does. It annoys me when people like this blogger gives grown women an out to blame men because they hate themselves. They hate themselves because they buy into someone else’s propaganda, and usually that propoganda is brought to us by other women. Generally, buying into that is a woman’s choice…but I dare say it starts when girls are young, and that is where the rub is.

There is a woman I know professionally that is obssessed with her body. Every time she sees me (and it's often) she looks me up and down and will disingenuously say “oh, you’re looking skinny today” followed by “Ugh, I am so bloated-I have gained 5 pounds in the past week”. This woman has a child, and I worry about how this constant fixation with appearances affects her 14 year old daughter. This is how we pass the torch of poor self-esteem. I have heard her telling her daughter what to eat, and I know she pushes her to try to keep up with her exhausting exercise routine. This woman is almost 50 and looks stunning (I would love to be so fit at my age!), but I have to tell you, the price of that isn’t worth it to me. I like my chocolate, my french fries, and my wine too much. Life’s too short to not enjoy the things that blow your hair back (within reason, of course), at least in moderation. And I’m not saying people shouldn’t exercise, but it should be for the express purpose of general well-being.

I weigh the same, if not a few pounds less, as I did before I was pregnant with Addie. Things have just shifted around. Although the stretchmarks are pretty non-existent now, I wince at this post of mine now that I have come to love this new body I move around in. The extra room in the front is the place where I grew babies in my body, and is a temple for which I now have absolute reverence. My now less-than-firm breasts have fed two children, for quite some time providing all of their nutrition, for going on three years of my life. For me to drone on about wanting to change anything that reminds me of the physical experiences molding what a woman I have become-completely 100% WOMAN-is a disservice and is lacks respect for what I have done in the life-giving department. That is like unicorn magic, ladies-WE HAVE GIVEN LIFE TO OTHER HUMAN BEINGS. Holy Jesus-that is amazing, right?!? Things don’t look the way they did before, but I don’t want them to. I am a mother. What’s more, my husband thinks I’m sexy, belly pooch, less-firm-breasts, and all.

Sean is not to blame for my moments in the beginning when I wondered if I could get use to the new shape of my body. In fact, he has zero patience for that self-indulgent drivel. Any comments he has ever made followed one of mine. If I said something about my pooch back then, he’d simply say “well, if you don’t like it, work on it”. But not once did he ever make me question whether or not I was still what he considers his “pretty wife”. It was, and is, up to me to accept and love the changes pregnancy and birth have brought to me.