Rockin the Mombod

Have you heard about the #Dadbod?

It's a thing.

Feel free to peruse google for images of the Dadbod in action. It's essentially an adult male who has a bit of a beer gut but looks like they maybe lift heavy stuff just often enough to maintain the slightest hint of muscle. People are celebrating the Dadbod physique all over the internet.

Hey, I'm not knocking it.

I'm all for the Dadbod.

I could care less if Chris has a six pack, and in his defense he's much more in shape than the "dadbod," but if he decided to go full on Dadbod... honestly I would care less.

Ten times out of ten I would rather watch my kids ride on his back like a pony or cling to his arms while he pretends to be an airplane than have him spend his time, away from us, in the gym getting a "beach bod." A softer midsection makes it a better place to rest their little heads anyway.

So, what about the mombod?

If the tabloids are to be believed, the Mombod is a tanned, toned, slightly more voluptuous version of perfection (a mere 8 weeks after birth).

I am calling bullshit on that crazy expectation.  Who wants to be spending their first precious weeks after bringing home a squishy newborn in the gym and drinking kale smoothies? Not I said the duck.

Those first few weeks are about smelling baby heads, attempting to quench your ravenous thirst and sasquatch-like hunger and rocking an all-yoga pants wardrobe while you tuck in your stomach.

Then, for the non-celebrity contingent, us mom's have to get back to work- wether work is out of the home or raising up those babies, working out isn't our highest priority (unless by working out we mean sitting around in yoga pants and drinking wine- then it's pretty much top of the list).

So, here we are, wanting to get back to out previous selves (whatever that may be) but we need to all give ourselves a break and some grace.

The cornerstone of the mombod is that we grew a tiny human inside of us (or many tiny humans, or many tiny humans at the same time). That is super freaking cool. 

The stretch marks and saggy belly buttons are actually meaningful version of the "really meaningful" tattoo you got in your early 20's. Stretch marks > the Chinese symbol for love.

No matter what size you start at, there are things that just never will be the same (well beyond a flat stomach- which some of us never had to begin with). While cooking those babies, all your organs get squished and smooshed and end up in completely new areas- and I swear sometimes they never make their way home. 

Somehow by time I was done cooking Carter, my butt had completely disappeared.  It has somehow been absorbed into my lower back and become a long flat expanse between my back and my knees. This is a very upsetting development, trust me, but not as upsetting as my boobs. These kids have literally sucked the life right out of them.

My boobs.... well, lets not even talk about them.  Those sad-empty-waterbaloon-bananas are just too sad to speak about. RIP.

Luckily, my particular brand of mombod is easily concealed by clothing (and a good pair of spanx).  

A coworker told me how great I looked last week and instead of accepting the compliment (which I'm awful at), I explained to her how it was all smoke and mirrors and that the naked version is less appealing (I'm sure she didn't need that visual). 

Why did I say that?  Why didn't I just say thanks and bask in the light of an unsolicited compliment?

Ugh. That is on my list of things to work on (along with my butt).

The whole Mombod thing popped back up in my mind when I pulled out my suitcase last night and started packing for a bachelorette party weekend.

You guys- I'm going away for 4.5 days! 

This is the first time leaving all my boys behind.

Don't worry, Chris has a "boys weekend" all planned out...I believe it begins with burritos. 

They are not even going to miss me.

Anyway, this fabulous bachelorette par-tay is happening in Phoenix, Arizona.

Arizona = Hot

Hot= Pools

Pools= bathing suits

Bathing suits= nightmare of all moms (except maybe for the moms who don't consider wine + yoga pants to be working out).

I think I'm probably going to be the only mom there.  Almost certainly the only mom who will be bringing a breast pump as her carry on for the plane.

Nothing goes better together than a Bachelorette party & a breast pump.  

Feel free to quote me on that.

So, here I am, staring at my suitcase, trying to pack clothing that I feel good in but that is also Bachelorette weekend appropriate.

Part of me wants to throw in a damn bikini because why the hell not?

People are breaking the internet these days with photos of every body type in a bikini and Target just came out with a new ad campaign with all sorts of body types in bikinis and they look awesome. These are all positive steps in the right direction and making me want to throw on a bikini right now.

I'm actually going to expand the definition of mombod a bit. I don't think it's really about size at all. 

For me, my mombod has bruises up and down my legs where I bumped into a counter, or tripped over a fire truck (so I look a bit like a train wreck). 

It has a huge patch of unshaven hair on my left knee cap because I apparently got sidetracked by my littlest shower companions and missed a spot, which is fine because it matches nicely with my one arm pit I forgot to shave and the eyebrows that I haven't plucked.

My toenails are in need of some professional attention and my left arm's muscle is twice as big as my right because that is the arm I use to carry the babies all the time.

So, Mombods unite. 

Hell, Auntbods, friendbods, Dog-mombods, and all-other-bods unite. The struggle is real for everyone, so put on that bikini or (insert item here that you want to wear but feel like you shouldn't) and rock it proudly.

So, all of that is to say that I may have talked myself into wearing a bikini.

I will probably feel self conscious, and I'll probably spend a lot of time in the pool where I don't have to suck it in quite so much, but then I'll have a margarita and will probably not give one single thought to how I look in that bikini.

Maybe, if I get real brave I'll post a picture.  We will just have to see where the margaritas take me.