Mommy Makeover

Have you ever heard of a “mommy makeover”? There is a plastic surgery clinic in Los Angeles that caters to “mommies”. Remember my (strange, non-maternal) aversion to the word “mommy”? It is NOTHING compared with the revulsion I feel at the marketing towards mothers and the supposed dissatisfaction with a child-bearing body. Philosophically, I feel that mothers should feel more beautiful after having children, not less. Each stretch mark, every inch of loose skin, or, in my case, every giant ropy varicose vein, should be testament to your enormous gift to the world, in terms of your wonderful child and your exuberant entry into motherhood. Right? Well, maybe not totally. But I do feel that our obsession with appearance and need to erase all signs of bodily stress due to child bearing is quite…unattractive. It’s the same feeling I have when I see a picture of Joan Rivers or similar, someone who in their quest for eternal beauty has become a hideous beast. (As my neighbour so succinctly put it, “It doesn’t make you look younger, it just makes you look stranger”.) I’m all for acceptance that yes, your body may be different after childbirth, but it is just as beautiful.

This website advertises procedures running the gamut from face lifts, breast lifts and enhancements, body sculpting, and tummy tucks, all the way down to labiaplasty (ewww). You could get a total renovation! There are before and after pictures, and as I clicked on them, I started to feel, instead of revulsion with the concept, revulsion towards my own body. You see, despite my strident feminist feelings against such marketing and even against such plastic surgery, I am a vain person. I mean, I put lip gloss on to walk the dog: that kind of vain. So as I looked at the pictures I felt a genuine dissatisfaction with my own body.

To say I was disappointed with my reaction is an understatement.

Part of it is, and I’m almost shy to say this, I used to have a GREAT rack. I had a nice set of 36 C’s, that expanded to a triple D when I was pregnant. And now…well, I got measured by the bra-fitting specialist at the Bay, and the result was 32 B. And B is a bit of an overstatement, because the actual measurement was somewhere between an A and a B. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. “YOU ARE VEARING THE VRONG SIZE BRRA” the bra fitter admonished me. Um, you think? So as I looked at the pictures of the women with breast lifts and enhancements, I thought, hey, that DOES look good! Dammit!

Marketing that targets the insecurities of moms is wrong on many levels; I guess that is why it is so effective. So what I’m saying, ladies, is let’s stand up for our post-partum, different-but-still-beautiful bodies! Let’s celebrate what we have and think of the changes not as flaws, but as amazing and miraculous evidence that we came, we had babies, and we conquered.