It doesn’t matter that I am thin post-baby. I feel about as attractive as one of those bizarre weirdos you see on the People of Walmart site. I feel I may be as sexy as Nick Nolte or Gary Busey after a big drinking binge.
Reality is I am like a cow. I leak milk if my kid doesn’t nurse on time…and sometimes when I am in the shower, I will squirt myself just for fun.
Hey, I never said I was mature.
Something about being a mom just makes me feel like no one will ever look at me (not even my husband) and think, “Man, I’d like to get with that chick.” Not that I am looking to get with anyone else! I love my husband and one man is enough, and I am sure I am more than enough whining and nagging, I mean wife, for him. Sure, my husband has told me I look great, but it’s what he is supposed to say contractually. In tiny letters it states on paper that if my husband wants to continue to live, he must tell me I look good.
I really hate when magazines (I protest and refuse to pay for most of these trashy mags except for if it’s got a good juicy article about angelina and brad, my pop culture weakness, or about a washed-up rock star) tell us how sexy it is to be a mom post-baby.
Even if I am a skinny bitch who most of you are thinking, “Quit your bitching,” I still have a flat tummy…with loose-ish skin. I still feel some numbness where my stupid c-section was. The scar is so minimal because my doctor rocks…
Even still, I am back in shape…I “look” good, but I feel like my face just says ‘Old White Woman straight ahead.’ Being a mom means everyone calls me “Ma’am.”
No one whistles at you while you’re pushing a stroller, unless they are suffering from an Oedipus complex and you happen to look like the man’s mother. Now as a good old-fashioned feminist, I should be against such actions like whistling, but you know what? It would be nice to feel like maybe I am somewhat attractive to someone who doesn’t have to tell me I’m cute or he won’t get supper.
Sometimes, I even feel like an actual cow. The baby comes up to me and grabs my shirt. I am almost considering handing her out tickets with wait times, like she is picking up deli meat at Shop-Rite.
Don’t get me wrong: being a mom is awesome. It is more rock and roll, than Courtney Love– than Sid and Nancy, but I wake up in the night sweats with nightmares of me in sweatshirts with puffy paint lettering and sequins. I dread the day when someone calls me a crotchedy old lady…or tells me ‘You wouldn’t understand.’
Then I am officially old and unsexy!