And then I grew up.After college, I got married and started a full-time job. Shortly thereafter, in your typical “fairy tale” of the 1990s, I became a full-time juggling working mother. With each day, I could feel the groan of the scale as my weight crept up like a phantom in the night. Before I knew it, I was overweight. And then I had another baby. I managed to lose quite a bit after the second baby before I put me on the back-burner and life took over again.
I did not think too much of it at the time. I knew I had some excess baggage but I did not consider myself fat. However, there is nothing like the brutal honesty of a three year old to knock some perspective smack dab into your forehead.My son, a newborn, had one of those famous explosive poops while I was in my 30 millisecond shower. I had him buckled into his scoop chair and my oldest promptly announced that Jake had pooped EVERYWHERE. I dried myself off as quick as I could and I threw on a pair of underwear. Being a young mom, I wanted to be sure I got him out of his lagoon of sewer immediately before his skin possibly melted off or he forever became entrenched with the smell of baby poo. I threw a towel down on my bed and began the hazmat clean up. My oldest sat and watched with pride and fascination as her mom was going to take the little sewer slug and turn him back into her cute baby brother. Within moments, my oldest’s attention span left the mustard colored baby and gravitated up towards me. Yes, I was bent over topless trying to clean up my little poo monster. With an insane innocence, Riley asked me matter of fact, “Momma, when will my boobs be long like yours?”
What. Did. This. Child. Just. Say?I stood upright faster than the speed of light and promptly announced, (covered in poop, of course) that my boobs were NOT long. With a stuttering, stammering attempt of an explanation, I told Riley that I was just bent over and there’s a thing called gravity and my boobs WERE….NOT…..LONG.
Jake, my blessed son, was much kinder and took out his Out of the Mouth of babes against his sister Riley. But then there came Reece, my youngest. Yes, she loves to cuddle with momma because I’m “squishy”. No dear. Feel my ass because you can seriously bounce a quarter off of it. You don’t want to cuddle with my ass? Why the heck not? (Because your tummy is squishy and comfortable, momma!)Reece has asked why my arms jiggle like jello when I put my hair up? Oh wait, dear……now I’m flexed. Look at this super human sized bicep and watch how it takes up the jiggle space of that underarm flab. It is simply excess skin to accompany my super-sized flex. Yes. Please don’t argue.
Reece has broken into song in a nearby room, “Momma’s got a big o’butt, oh yea. Momma’s gotta big o’butt.” I may have a big o’butt dear but I could crush your skull with these toned gluteus maximus muscles.Reece, my dear cuddler that she is, has adjusted my pajama shirt on many a weekend morn, as the side of a now much smaller and NOT LONG boob still finds a way to sneak out while I toss and turn in bed overnight.
I guess if I had the physique of Giselle Bunchen, my blog post today would be very boring……as there would be no flaws, of which I may be freaked out by, but flaws that my children find absolutely perfect. The squishy belly is their pillow and was once their home before they entered the outside world. (And if I flex just right, you can feel my solid ab muscles beneath the squish!) ;-)