Last updated on March 1st, 2024 at 04:16 pm
“My teacher tells me beauty is on the inside,” says the kid.
“That’s just something ugly people say,” replies the dad.
Funny, right? I laughed at this in 1997. It’s a quote from one of my favorite guilty pleasure movies, “Liar Liar”. The father is unable to lie for 24 hours and gives his 5 year old the brutal truth. To a then-21-year-old with a slim body, lots of free time, and no responsibility, it seemed obvious. That IS what ugly people say. Right? Hell, I still laugh at it now (but mostly because of Jim Carrey’s comedic timing).
When I was 21, I didn’t lack for male attention. Guys were always cat calling after me and asking me out. I sometimes found it annoying, the same old lines, the same old attempts to try and get in my pants, like I wasn’t hip to that game. I knew that I wasn’t hideous looking and I wasn’t gorgeous, but that I fell somewhere in between. With a little makeup, a nice manicure, and the trendy clothes of the day (hello, chokers and velvet pants), powder and paint made this girl what she ain’t. It never occurred to me that going after what I would one day desire — having children — would mean sacrificing my “hot body” and attractiveness. I never thought I would live in a body that society would deem unattractive. I had always been confident, or at least I was until one person crossed my path.
I had a friend that I wanted to become more than a platonic friend and he knocked me right off of the house-of-cards pedestal that I had built for myself. We used to have so much fun; he was brilliant, irreverent, snarky, and a total pain in the ass. Just my type. “I’m just attracted to you,” he said. “You’re not MY type. I like girls that don’t wear any makeup or have their nails done. That natural look. You should try that.” Ouch. I’d never had anyone that I liked reject me like that. But, he was still my friend and we hung out all the time. I was so enamored, I would actually pass up dates with guys who found me attractive just to spend time with the one person I really cared about that didn’t reciprocate. And I sat there like a fool listening to him opine about the girl he loved, but she didn’t feel the same way the about him. Oh, irony, you are a sly one. I realized, there was nothing on earth that I could do to make this person feel differently. I could change my clothes, change my style and walk around like an au-natural farm hand, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. So from that point, I stopped obsessing so much and just focused on being myself. In my day-to-day life now, I wear makeup maybe three times a year, so I became the opposite of what I was, out of necessity. If he could only see this unmade up girl now, it’s not so pretty.
I think about this scenario whenever I feel badly about my body and what it’s become. I’m never getting back into my size 4 pants and that’s okay with me. Why is it okay? First, I think it would be most unsettling to have a near perfect body and be covered in spit up, sticky jam, and wearing “mom” clothes. How could I walk around and have young guys hitting on me during the dedicated “mom and kids” time? That would be entertaining for 30 seconds and then quickly turn creepy, (except for you, James Maslow, every rule is meant to be broken). I’m not in that place anymore where I give any thought to whether my clothes match or are stylish. Is it clean? Check. No visible holes? Check. Does it hide my big ass (kind of…)? Check. Being alluring to anyone is the furthest thing from my mind.
Let me preface my next thought by saying that I promote healthy eating and a healthy lifestyle in my family, but there is a decadent streak in me that truly enjoys life. I’m the ultimate diet saboteur and have been known to say, “What the hell!” while madly grabbing for those Italian cookies (pignolis are my favorite). I’m, at most, about 20 lbs. over my goal weight and there’s no lack of audience forgetting to constantly remind me of it. So many of my online friend groups are obsessed with losing weight and erasing stretch marks. The endless discussions about juice cleanses and body wraps, detoxing and fitness boot camps. It’s mentally exhausting, let alone seeing the effort these women are putting forth.
To someone like Maria Kang, the “Fit Mom” who asked “What’s your excuse?”, here’s my answer: Being 20 lbs overweight is pretty awesome. I can eat what I want and not have any unfulfilled longing for that ice cream sundae. I’m not at any increased health risks because of a little extra chub. I can still buy clothes in a regular store. I don’t limit myself to the same portion size as my 2 year olds. So stop fat shaming me. The blueberry muffins I recently made DO taste as good as skinny feels. Believe that. Am I jealous of your gorgeous body? Yes. Am I also jealous of my neighbors inground sprinklers every morning when I am moving around my sprinkler and getting sprayed in the face while cursing? Yes. I’m jealous of a lot of things. I’m okay with that, too. But, worse than fat shaming is the thought of spending any time doing crunches when I could be EATING or SLEEPING! I’m secure in this imperfect body.
My problem is the frequency of this discussion. When did our lives become a never-ending parade of unrealistic standards? Why should we have to change who we are? Transform your body? Make great strides to turn back the clock and become half your size? Flash a perfect stretch mark-free stomach? What the hell is all of this proving? And to whom? Eating that piece of cake shouldn’t determine how you feel about yourself and your self worth. It’s just cake. Can’t we talk about things that matter and count those among our triumphs? Pick a subject, any subject. The economy, global warming, Harper Lee’s second book; there’s so much to discuss without including the words “calories”, “burpees”, and “waist training”. Blech. Shouldn’t we be setting a higher standard for our daughters? And our sons? Notice how men’s online conversations are NOT about weight. They commiserate about things they enjoy: sports, beer, and ridiculous online videos.
If you can find the time to work out, whether you enjoy doing it or not, I sincerely applaud you. I wish I had that type of ambition to do the same. But I don’t, and never will. While you are doing that and looking trim, hot, and better than me, I’ll be playing with my kids at the park, taking a walk with them, and maybe giving the ice cream shop a little business. Please don’t point out that I could lose a few pounds. I know. I also know that I’m short and yes, these ARE twins! If I ever get any free time, I plan to take a nap, eat some ice cream (that I’m NOT sharing with anyone), and maybe re-watch all the “My So-Called Life” episodes in order. This tired — but satiated — twin mom can dream.
Daniele Parris is a work from home mom to an upbeat seven year old boy and one year old boy-girl twins. She lives in the suburbs of New York City and has degrees in Fine Arts and Philosophy from New York University. She makes her living in the Healthcare industry and spends most of her time with her boisterous Italian family, trying to get a word in edgewise. Her hobbies include cooking and baking, an unholy knowledge of 80’s hair-metal bands and trying, albeit almost always in vain, to guess the monetary value of the items on Antiques Roadshow. In addition to her full time job, she has an online shop Little Bambinos that specializes in fun clothing for twins and multiples.
