my daily outrage...and maybe a little enlightenment?

this article made me cry:

"Is the 'Mom Job' Really Necessary?"

apologies if you need to register for the ny times online and are unable to read it...allow me to summarize:

we now live in an age where, after months (or maybe years?) of trying to conceive, of breastfeeding until our nipples are sore (i speak hypothetically- of course, i have never breastfed, though i did once have a dream that i was breastfeeding and it freaked me right out. but i digress....), of working one's ass off on little to no sleep to tend to another human being's every need and desire...we are now to feel like an "abnormality" for having--dare i say?- saggy boobs and paunchy stomachs. the horror!

no worries, though. lucky for us, the "mommy makeover" (a procedure combining a tummy tuck, breat lift/implants, and lipo) is now available for women whose bodies have been "ravaged" by motherhood.

from the article:
“Twenty years ago, a woman did not think she could do something about it and she covered up with discreet clothing,” Dr. Stoker said. “But now women don’t have to go on feeling self-conscious or resentful about their appearance.”

In 1970, “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” the seminal guide to women’s health, described the cosmetic changes that can happen during and after pregnancy simply as phenomena. But now narrowing beauty norms are recasting the transformations of motherhood as stigma.

here's another zinger from the article:

"There is more pressure on mothers today to look young and sexy than on previous generations, she added. “I don’t think it was an issue for my mother; your husband loved you no matter what,” said Ms. Birkland, who recently remarried.

wow. just....wow.

i must be a relic, for i guess that i'm an idiot for believing that love is unconditional, atLEAST in terms of "babyweight". i mean, if i'm a big floozie and a constant nag, then i can see where love may wither and die. but not because i have a "paunch" and "deflated boobs", the last item being what cookie magazine describes as "the ultimate indignity".

"the ULTIMATE INDIGNITY"?? can they be serious? funny, because when phrases such as "the ultimate indignity" are thrown around, i think of rwanda, abu ghraib, somalia. saggy boobs (a result of providing one of nature's greatest miracles...life-sustaining nourishment) don't really pop up on my radar.

i think what i find the most disheartening is the scope of thinking, from these women, from their doctors, from the gossip rags and cookie magazine. i have been struggling a bit (or maybe a bit more than a bit) lately with the idea of aging...of feeling (knowing) that one is becoming physically less attractive, what with the gray hairs, the extra fluff around one's middle, the lines. feeling that i should be above this. that i know better. that, atleast, i am confident now, fully-realized (as if).

and sometimes, all i really wish is that i could go back to being twelve years old, pre-boobs and boys, and rediscover all that lies ahead (and know how to work it out), and let that girl know that she should always carry that confidence and desire in her heart.

because, despite what we try in good faith to believe--that we get better with age, that what we may lose in our youthful appearance we gain in confidence and wisdom, that we release these petty insecurities--i sometimes wonder if what is within us sits like a stone, or festers, or eventually grows like a cancer. that these negative messages and feelings become more of who we are rather than less. that they fill us up until we can't help but believe them, even if just a little bit.

i wish i could close on a more hopeful note, that i could think of things like compassion and freedom from attachments and other more buddhist thoughts that have been in my noggin, fighting the good fight (the unrelenting battle) against the message of the mommy makeover. perhaps i can instead focus on a program i saw about the buddhist mandala, a meditation aid that results from the practice of creating a beautiful sand painting.



the true beauty of the mandala is that it is destroyed upon completion. the hours, days, (weeks?) of tiring work swept away with little brooms, sifted into a vase and released (with flower petals) into a body of water. to free ourselves from attachments, however beautiful (or ugly), being the course to our enlightenment.