The Jelly Belly

Hip Hip Horray for another formspring question!  Here goes nothing...

I've got belly jelly (4 BIG babies worth of it) how on earth do I climb in bed and feel good rockin' my belly jelly, and not just be acutely aware of it's jiggle the whole time?!?

Well...isn't that the question of the day?

When Aubrey and I received this inquiry, I quickly called dibs on the chance to answer since I feel this falls into my particular specialty...let's just say I have the jiggliest, wrinkliest jelly belly this side of the Mississippi.  It really, truly is ugh-worthy, I promise.  No matter what I do, I just can't seem to shake the jello (pun intended ;).  After 4 babies, each one stretching things out a bit more, I've finally come to accept the fact that the wrinkly skin and loose muscle just isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

So...what's a girl to do now?  I've learned to tolerate my ever-present tummy-folds but toleration doesn't exactly foster sexual prowess and confidence au naturel.  Of course, there's all the usual answers:

• lingerie to cover up provocatively

• role-playing to help a girl pretend to still be a toned young thing

• denial in an attempt to ignore (la la la what jelly belly? la la la)

• and, of course, plain ol' fashioned leaving the lights off

While all valid answers, they're really just a band-aid, aren't they?  They cover things up, not help them heal.  Well, just like with an owie that's being covered a bit too often and a bit too tightly, sometimes it's just better to rip the band-aid off in one quick painful pull.  Which means...[cue scary music]

• leave the lingerie for the real special occasions (although, honestly, there's many a husband that will claim anytime he gets the rare summin' summin' post-baby is a special occasion)

• enjoy being you, the mother of your beautiful children and your husband's wife, rather then imagining you're someone and somewhere else

• not to mention, leave those darn lights on

In short...really, truly accept your body for what it is.  Heaven knows, I'm not claiming I've got this down, I can't even help cringing when I accidentally catch a glimpse of my one month postpartum belly in the mirror. I am, however, trying.  I'm attempting to believe my husband when he insists I'm gorgeous and oh-so-sexy.  I'm trying to view my stretch marks and wrinkles as battle scars in the war mommyhood wages on my body. And, five and a half years and four kids after I officially became a mom, I'm trying to love, not just tolerate or even accept, but love my body for the amazing things it's done and does everyday.  While it's still a bit of a struggle every time I climb into bed, I finally feel like I'm getting there.  I don't know if I can honestly claim I'm "rockin' my belly jelly" but I like to think one day maybe I will.

Too sexy!

To run with Whitney's theme in the past couple of posts, I wanted to bring up sexiness. One of the things I miss the most is that feeling of being sexy. Remember what it was like to be at the store with your girlfriends picking up something as mundane as milk, but knowing you look hot doing it and that the group of guys who are getting eggs have stopped to look at you and your girlfriends?

Yeah, I barely remember myself. I now go to the store hoping I don't find snot on my butt (isn't it lovely when your toddler is just at that right height to wipe his nose on your bum?), smelling like spit-up, and feeling grody from all of the slobber, stickiness, and food that has been wiped on me throughout the day. I'm lucky to look half-way decent let alone sexy!

But then I get in my car. See, there is something special about being behind the wheel of a car. The power, the speed, the radio blaring. The fact that you are going just fast enough so that people see there is a cute girl behind the wheel, but not that she has pee on her shirt (oh, and if I roll my windows down it makes my hair look "wind-teased"). Stopping at a light and a cute guy pulls up next to you smiles and nods and you realize - he hasn't seen the kids in the backseat! I'm just a random twenty-five year old girl who, yes, will drag-race you to the next light. (Did I mention I have a bit of a lead foot?)

Ah yes, the car is the one place, that no matter what, I can feel sexy. What really makes me feel sexy is my husband. He loves to let me drive and whenever I pick him up from work he can't help but comment "You look sexy" and then give me light kisses on my neck.

So, tell me, are there times you feel sexy?

We Are Golden Muffins

So, I was planning on ranting about the provocative Hot Mormon Muffins calendar. The "Hot Mormon Muffins: A Taste of Motherhood" calendar features 12 women who claim membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in vintage pinup picture poses. Each month also has a muffin recipe.


I was going to go on and on about the offensive way the calender's creator, Chad Hardy (the brain behind the controversial Men on a Mission calendar), is supposedly breaking down stereotypical barriers by parading about women who claim to be Mormon in next-to-nothing. I considered discussing all the different ways this is offensive to me, an actual Latter-day Saint mother, and how it drags the morals and reputation of the Church through the mud. Believe you me, I was planning on going on for quite some time.

...but then I figured y'all have already heard my opinion on the over-abundance of sex in the media, especially regarding women, and figured I'd leave the ranting to you in the comments. So, I threw that idea out the the window and instead, decided to share one of my very favorite songs and videos ever, We Are Golden by Mika (thanks Megan!).

I love basically anything by Mika, but this one in particular makes me smile. It takes me right back to the heady highs and lower-than-lows of the angst-ridden teenage years. Who doesn't remember dancing around the house with the music blasting? Whenever I turn this song on, I can't help but bounce around like I'm 16 again, much to my children's eternal amusement. I hope you love it even one iota as much as I do. Enjoy!

More Stripes Than A Zebra

Last week we talked about what clothes to wear, today we're going to discuss what's under said clothes.

Pardon?

That's right, girls...it's time to bare all. My guess is that 99% of our readers are mothers (and a BIG hello to Spencer and Carlin, our 1%), whether newer moms, veteran moms, first-time preggos, or grandmas. Hence, I'm sure you all have what's fondly referred to by some as badges of motherhood (also known as the mummy tummy, flat pancake boobs, more stripes than a zebra, etc., etc.). Heaven knows, I have more then my fair share...I have road map thighs, a chest that resembles deflated sandwich baggies (and that's while nursing, just wait until I'm not), and the saggiest, wrinkliest tummy this side of the Mississippi. I've tried a number of different exercises, but between a stomach-ripping c-section and skin with the elasticity of a banana peel (not to mention more pregnancies planned for the future which are sure to undo any semi-successful endeavors), let's just say that my so-called badges are here to stay. So, what's a young, semi-hip mommy supposed to do when the mere thought of her body sends her into spasms of revulsion and disgust?

Well...that is the question of the day, isn't it?

What would you do? Or, more accurately, what are you planning on doing? Are you going to try every exercise under the sun? Are you one of the blessed few whose body has remained relatively unaffected by pregnancy and mommyhood (you know we all secretly hate you, don't you)? Are you going to cling to your body shaper and wonderbra 'til death do you part? Or are you planning on being one of the 10.6 million women (in 2007 alone) who go under the knife?

I'll be honest, folks, as time goes by and my pre-baby best assets continue to become my post-baby worst, I'd be lying to say I've never considered it. Nothing major, but a little tummy tuck would go a loooong way to boosting my body-image. My major issue is that I have a hard time spending more than $10 on myself, so you can imagine how difficult it would be to spend thousands of dollars on something so superficial...and it is superficial, right? Then again, I often don't know how skin-deep it is anymore. If a body can affect one's psyche so much, is helping one's body look better truly just a cosmetic fix? Then again, if I give into my craving to look like I did five years and three kids ago, what's that saying to my daughters down the road about their own self-image?

What do you think?

It's called RESPECT

Some people call me naive, others old-fashioned. There is also self-righteous and the dreaded anti-feminist. Why? Because I believe sexual relations should only be practiced between a man and woman who are married. To each other. Not only do I believe it but I have practiced it. Both my husband and I practiced abstinence until we were married. The white gown I wore on my wedding day really did mean something. I also believe that a husband and wife's first obligations are to their family. If this means the woman stays home with the kids while the husband earns the bacon then I am in full support of it.

Recently I have been bombarded with lesser values in TV shows, movies, and books. It has me disgusted to see the degeneration of womanhood in today's media. Yes that's right. The sexual "freedom" that is displayed in the media, the push for sexual "equality" with lawsuits, the acceptance of pornography as a social norm, the elitism against motherhood, all of this and more are leading to the downfall of womanhood. Some people scoff at my argument saying that women like myself are undoing all that our ancestors have done for us. Is that so?

Then how come my husband worships the ground I walk on? I have chosen to do something that many women and men are terrified of - I have chosen to stay home with my child every single day, doing house work, being a mother and wife. How come I have the esteem of every male and female relation whether they be mere acquaintance or more intimate? Many of my peers enjoyed working with me on assignments because I did not make them uncomfortable with my latest one-night-stand stories. Many of the males I have worked with admit to being intimidated.

The first feminist movement was to gain equality in society. The latest feminist movements have been undoing what other women worked so hard to gain. So to all those who think I am old-fashioned, anti-feminist, or what other names you may come up with I only have one thing to say: It's called RESPECT!

Like Father, Like Son

I had an interesting conversation with my three year old the other day.

He walked into the room as I was getting dressed and noticed my bra as I was putting it on. The ensuing conversation went something like this...

"What's that?"
"It's just something Mommys wear."
"For your chest?"
"Yes, for my chest."
"Can I touch it?"
He then proceeded to stroke my bra.
"They feel soft, Mommy...soft and squishy. I like them." With a couple more pats, he went on his way.

He reminds me of my husband, twenty-something years ago. I guess some things never change.