The Circle of Cute

I spent most of my 20s responding, when asked about babies, that I would have kids *just* after I lost my figure, so I could blame it on them. And that's pretty much the plan we followed - my daughter was born a month or so shy of my 33rd birthday. I wasn't unattractive or even fat, exactly, but I was pretty sure that I'd crested the Pretty Hill and was on the downslope.

And then I had a baby. Then I had another! Mission: DestroyAbs was completed. But I got to blame it on the babies. What freedom! If someone says I'm fat - even if that someone is me - I can respond "I sacrificed my Hotness on the Altar of Having Babies" and they would be baby-hating jerks to even think that something as paltry as hotness measures up against the continuation of the species. It's like a Get-Out-Of-Being-Fit card.

This has actually taken a lot of the pressure off, and allowed me to be less critical of my own flabdomen - it's like I'm fooling even myself. Except I'm not. I'm *convincing* myself. I actually think it's worth any downgrade in my appearance (lack of time/energy/etc) to have participated in the creation of the two perfect-in-their-own-way beings that have earned the names Luna and Sol - my crazy beautiful tidal girl and my sunshine and warm-fuzzies boy. I look @ these tiny humans, and back at myself. And sometimes I may really feel that they've somehow leeched my own youth and beauty. But they wear it so much better. They should keep it.

I appreciate the thought, but your shirt is lying.