This is a little essay I wrote and tucked away a few years ago. If you are over 30 and have kids, I hope you can relate 🙂
Well, it finally happened. After 32 years of a relatively scoff-free life, last night, I took the plunge. I scoffed. Webster’s defines scoffing as “speaking to someone or about something in a scornfully derisive or mocking way.” I would say old Webster was right on the money.
It was totally unintentional. There I was, enjoying a drink with my husband and friends at one of our favorite hangouts, when they entered. They were twenty-three little girls. Ok, so they weren’t THAT little. They were all 21, and they were there to celebrate one of their birthdays…the big 2-1. Oh, to be twenty-one again.
I’m not sure why, but in an instant, an eye-roll boiled up from somewhere deep inside and made its way into my eyes. I was annoyed by them. Annoyed by their short dresses, their long hair, their lack of cellulite, their flat stomachs, their complete lack of responsibility.
The thing is I don’t know why it happened. What I mean is that I am not so different from them. Yes, I am older. Yes, I have kids. Yes, I have a husband. As for the cellulite and flat stomach…well…ok, they had me there.
Having kids did something to me that I have never really had to deal with. My kids had done battle with my body. Not a typical “let’s take no prisoners battle” (although two perky breasts and a flat stomach have been missing since said attack…please tell me if you find them). But, having two babies definitely left me with a body that was not what I had been used to. And this body has left me with an evil bi-product. Insecurity.
Insecurity is a bitch. All of the sudden, you are aware of stupid things. Like, “why are my boobs down there?” or “why does my stomach skin slide to one side when I am lying on my side?” Or “when did my butt get so droopy?” or “what are those little freaking dimples all over my legs…argh!!!!!!” After having kids, you become very aware that these precious little bundles have left you with damaged goods. And that is a hard reality.
So there I am, sitting on my little bar stool. And I am scoffing.
It is at that point, in my little jealous, scoffing mind game, that I glance over at my husband sitting next to me and notice something. He, in all his manly glory, isn’t looking at the flock of chicks. I am.
Hmmmm. I am. I am staring at these girls. I am creating a comparison between them and myself. Not my husband, not my friends, just me. I slowly began to realize that no one sitting around me thinks any less of me because of these girls. No one is saying, “Well, Sonya used to look good, but since those kids…” It was just the little voice in my head. The one with the red horns, un-brushed hair, chipped nail polish, mismatched clothes, no make-up, kids screaming at her legs….you know the one. The one that lives in all of our heads and looks like the worst versions of ourselves. She was the one making the stink. SHE was the one scoffing. So, I did what any responsible, mature, fabulous woman would do. I sent her away to do the dishes so I could enjoy my drink in peace.
I didn’t hate those girls. I just realized I was at a different point in life, with different trophies and different games. Sure, they had flat stomachs and perky boobs. But I have two of the most beautiful, charming children ever born. And they can’t touch that with a 10 foot martini stirrer. Silently, I raised my glass in celebration for them. Here’s to you, twenty-one year old, and here’s to your fabulous life.
PS..call me when you need a plastic surgeon.