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!)
;-)
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