Kourtney Kardashain may be able to shed her baby weight in three months, so she can appear in a bikini on the cover of US Weekly with no trace of a stretch mark, but most of us are not that lucky. Most of us have to make peace with our new friend in the mirror. A new friend who is planning to stay indefinitely and prefers a much higher-waisted pair of pants.
Today, I'm lucky to have a guest post from the fantastic Paige Kellerman, the blogger behind "There's More Where that Came From". Paige is going to talk about the pleasures of an after-baby body, claiming there is much to be loved about stretch marks, a gut and unwashed hair.
One thing she left out? Lopsided boobs. I'd love to know if there is an upside to having Pamela Anderson on the left and Helen Mirren on the right, because the ladies are not seeing eye to eye. Maybe, a high paying job at a circus freak show?
If anybody knows how to put a positive spin on a lopsided rack, it's Paige. She could convince me that muffin tops are great for protecting the top of your pants…
Everyone touts the joys of being young and being able to see your toes over your belly, but there’s a lot of neat stuff that comes with giving birth. Sure, I used to have abs that could crack a walnut, but now I'm blessed with thighs that clap out the Hallelujah Chorus as I march over to the fridge to get a snack. It’s the type of body where people stop me and say, “Oh, girl.You may wanna wrap that up before you put an eye out.” And all I have to say is— "THANKS!"
Oh to be twenty-one and have less jiggle than newly-dried asphalt. Those were the days. Or were they? There was a time when bras were optional and a breeze held the girls up. My street name used to be Chesty McFloats-on-air. But that was before my upper half looked like two melting tubs of Play-doh.
Not a bad thing. For instance, the stretch I’ve accumulated after just two pregnancies allows me to use one side as a paper weight, freeing me up to finish typing fan letters to various celebrities. And the bras I wear now? They double as shelter for the whole family during tornado season— there's even room for the dog!
Washboard abs? Only if I’m asking you to clean my girdle. Being able to wear a bikini and show off a tight middle is awesome. Even better is having a stomach that hangs so low, when people ask if I’m walking my pooch, I can look down at my belly button dragging on the sidewalk, and confidently answer, “Why, yes. Isn’t it cute? And she’s even had all her shots!” It's made walking by the dog park somewhat of a social affair, garnering five new friends, two blog followers, and a Doberman who looks like he is interested in something more than platonic.
The Stretch Marks
I’ll probably never get a tattoo. Don’t get me wrong, skulls and Chinese symbols that may or may not say “Caramel” instead of “Karma” are great. But, why would I get one of those, when I could have an entire map of the world running from just under my neck to right above my knees?
Some people say stretch marks are a curse. I usually lift up my shirt, point to my right hip and say, “If you look closely, this one looks remarkably like a sketch of Charlie Sheen. If you ask nicely, I’ll make it wink at you and demand more booze.”
As a college student, working on term papers and pretending to participate in group projects, it only took a swipe of mascara to be ready to shout, “To the bar! After we study responsibly, of course.” But there's more to life than evading speeding tickets and getting Gin and Tonics on the house.
Today, my face looks like a cracked baseball mitt, and twice as weathered. The circles under my eyes so morbid, Tim Burton need only meet me once to proclaim, “Johnny Depp, who? You shall be my new star!” But this is an advantage. Husband always said he’d love me no matter what. What a great way to test that theory. As a bonus, I can now scare stray dogs and brazen squirrels off my lawn, just by poking my head out the door.
Regular trims are great. Touched-up roots are even better. The day I graduated college, I spent an entire hour on my hair before I was ready to shake hands with the dean. My waves looked fab.
As I type this, my hair is, roughly, eight feet long with three foot roots, and my ends have bigger splits than a Kardashian. My secret? No time. And I wish I could say I like the state of my locks, but I'd be lying because I love it. So much body. So much frizz. Going au naural not only gives me enough hair to hide my face on makeup-less days, but also screams…
"I'm here. I'm now. I can use this mane as an overcoat if I have to."