Our Bellies Are Beautiful

Came across this wacky story of how Slate writer Emily Yoffe (aka the human guinea pig) was a contestant in the Mrs. Washington DC pageant. When one contestant "wondered why we weren't allowed to wear two-piece bathing suits, [another] explained, 'This is a Mrs. contest. Most of us have tread marks.'"

Yep, we do. The other day I was sitting in the sauna and two women came in with bellies like mine. While I avoid the mirror in the gym, when I look down I see the brown line that runs down my tummy and my poor off-kilter navel (it seems to be migrating back toward the centerline, but I fear a major exodus if I ever have a third child!). Another woman's mushy stomach and "tread marks," however, made me feel proud to be in the mommy club. It truly seemed beautiful in that moment--and I wasn't just looping some memorized affirmation to counteract cultural messages but realizing that we bear a glorious tattoo, a sign of our struggle and power.

They say Demi Moore revolutionized the image of pregnant women with her big-belly portrait on Vanity Fair's cover, but no one has done the same for the maternal body. Of course, I think we should find ways to do this celebration that are not centered around how we look or present ourselves--we're already too focused on that as women.

The other day in the grocery store a man stopped and stared at me shyly as I wore the baby in his carrier. "Am I in your way?" I asked. "No, I'm just--I'm just in awe of you guys. Women are so amazing." "Thank you," I murmurred. He continued, "I used to be into goddess worship..." I didn't catch all he said, but thanked him as we each moved on with shopping. Funny serendipity--I mentioned the goddess thing in my Da Vinci Code blog. It's always nice to be appreciated, anyway.