dinosaurs plump

Gryffin has been talking about fat-ness lately.  Mainly Santa Claus being fat.  But it’s, of course, starting to extend (pun intended) elsewhere.  Is that person fat?  Is that one?  Is that ball fat?  Is our bathtub fat?  Is my belly getting fat because I’m eating so many waffles (yes)?  We don’t know where it came from or how it started, really.  And it’s hard to know what exactly to say.  I want to be intentional in the way we talk about it.  It’s entirely innocent at this point but I don’t want him to say something hurtful and/or embarrassing when we’re out in public.  Jason tried to discuss it and chat about it in terms Gryff would understand, using words from the Sandra Boynton book Oh My, Oh My, Oh Dinosaurs!…

“Dinosaurs Plump,
Dinsoaurs Lean,
Dinosaurs Red, Blue, Yellow & Green”

…and then told Gryffin that he was lean.  To which Gryffin replied “So… Isaiah is plump?”  Which was awesome.   And funny because it’s true.  Isaiah is sorta plump still.

I guess I thought that we wouldn’t be having this conversation yet.  Or maybe I thought we’d bypass it altogether because we have boys instead of girls?  I don’t know exactly but I’ve been thinking about it a lot.   There is a local newswoman here in Seattle who is the anchor of one of the morning news programs who recently received an email criticizing her because she’s overweight and there was quite the response online and she actually responded on-air to the email just yesterday.   And there is an article floating around Facebook and elsewhere online right now about mothers staying in the picture.   It’s all got me thinking.  Thinking about body weight, body image.  And thinking about my boys.

Our culture has a very warped sense of what constitutes a beautiful body.  I think most of us would agree with that.  But honestly?  The topic seems too big to tackle.  Where would one even begin?   Should we start with this anchorwoman and that awful email?  An email that I’m certain no male anchor has ever received.  Or should we start with mothers who avoid the camera?   Why, after having a baby, the ultimate bodily feat, our view of ourselves and our bodies goes down, instead of up?

As much as I wish I was immune to the pressure of having that perfect pre-baby body (oh, wait, I didn’t have one of those either), I’m not.  I actually blogged about this a few years ago on my work site.  As much as I’d like to be able to say that I’m above it all, I can’t.  I’m American.  I’m a woman and I want to look good.  I want other people to think that I look good.   I’m embarrassed to admit that just last night I clicked on a link from pinterest titled How to Tighten Loose Skin After Having a Baby.  And I still self-consciously suck in my stomach when Jason comes in the room.  Jason!  My husband of 11 years, whose babies I carried inside my body.  Sigh.   I guarantee that Jason has never clicked on a site about tightening flabby skin.  I don’t think he’s ever even thought about his skin.  Or sucking in his stomach, for that matter.  Probably because he can fit into my pants.   I digress.  My point is that I struggle with this as much as the next woman.  No question there.

These recent conversations with Gryffin and the other stories I mentioned have compelled me to re-visit the topic.   To examine how I’m thinking about myself and my body.    To remind myself, again, that being pregnant with and birthing Gryffin and Isaiah were the most unique, unbelievable, life-altering, mind-bending, never-going-to-happen-again experiences of my life.  Nobody else will ever carry those two boys inside of their bodies the way I did.  Nobody.  It was my experience alone.   And as I wrote before, it was my privilege and immense joy.  Why am I so desperate to erase all traces of it?

I marvel at the fact that Isaiah and Gryffin have absolutely NO sense of what our American culture deems beautiful.  I can be feeling my absolute worst and they look at me with utter and complete adoration.  It baffles me.  They don’t care a bit that my teeth aren’t shiny and white (oh, how I wish they were!), that my hair is kinda flat and going gray on top, that the skin on my belly is still so… let’s say prolific, that my hips are wider than they used to be (thanks, Isaiah), that my skin is dry and flaky, that I somehow, in my 30s, still have acne, or that some of my jeans are SO crazy tight I feel like I’m suffocating and maybe dying before I’ve even made it through my morning coffee and have to succumb yet again to my yoga pants.  They don’t care.  All I have to do is show up.  That’s it.   And to them, I’m brilliant.

One of the things the anchorwoman mentioned in her response (which was great, by the way – I’ll try to find the link) was that the emailer’s words didn’t matter to her, that they weren’t important.  And that’s the one area where I disagreed with her otherwise brave address.  I think the reason why there was such a firestorm of a response on Facebook and the reason why she was addressing it on the air was because the man’s words DID matter.   Words do matter and his were ugly and extremely hurtful.   So I want to think carefully about the words I give my boys when we’re talking about this topic and discussing all the nuances of plumpness, as Gryffin is so fond of doing lately.    To help him and Isaiah continue to see that there is so much glimmering beneath the surface of a person, as they are already so apt at seeing.  And who knows?  Maybe some of their incredible vision, their innate knowledge, will rub off on me as well.

My dinosaur plump

…and my dinosaur lean