At risk of sounding like a Cathy cartoon, I hate dressing rooms. They always depress me. I see myself from unusual angles, the lighting is generally unflattering, and I'm so short that hardly anything ever fits me right.
This past Saturday, when I was trying on those new maternity pants, I caught a glimpse from behind of my now-slightly-broader butt . I turned to the side and looked at my belly. I stood in my underwear and looked at my pregnant body from every conceivable angle. And you know what? I loved it. I was by no means a picture of virginal youth or modern-media-inspired sexiness. But I looked so womanly. In a real way.
It was liberating to look at myself and know that in my present condition I am so far removed from the underfed, oversexed 18 year old college girls that traipse around my city that no one would even think to compare me to them. I'm allowed to have a big butt and round belly right now, and no one would criticize me for it. I could look at my thighs and think, "Well, they shouldn't be stick-thin right now. I'm pregnant!"
I realize, of course, that ideally I would never feel that I need permission to look curvy. Ideally, I could laugh at the image of female sexuality that 85% of America buys into, and just always be happy with myself. But you can't have grown up during the 80s and expect it to have no effect on your aesthetics.
I hope that at the end of this pregnancy I still don't give a crap about what society says is beautiful with regard to the female form. I hope that I can look at my saggy belly and find it beautiful because it just carried my baby for 9 months. I don't know if I will. I'm not there yet. But I DO love my body right now. I love my fat ass and my round tummy and my fuller face and my jiggly thighs. So suck on that, Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.
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