Do You Have Body Envy?

Anyway, back to me. As the pregnancies came and went, things did not improve on the flat-stomach front. After the third pregnancy, I went to jumbo 747 proportions. When I was lying down, my front rose before me like the Himalayas; this did not bode well. After the birth of my third child, the tutu of flesh around me was now so stretched, it could be flung over my shoulder and worn as a pashmina. I thought after you get the kids out of the way, you're on to the next phase of life, which is more cerebral. I thought after childbearing, you drop the vanity and evolve into the Wise Woman, because when babehood, or the quest for babehood, goes, the Wise Woman can rear her head. (P.S. You cannot be a babe and wise in the same body; it is against the laws of nature.) Now I could let myself go at last and become one of those wild-haired crones you see on the Discovery Channel at about four o'clock in the morning. Big, mountainous woman with ting tings on fingers, dancing to tapes of old menopausal whales. Dancing with wolves 'cause no one else will dance with them. Shouting in all tongues, in all languages of the world, "Embrace the dryness."

But this did not happen to me. After the birth of my children, I still cared. I do not know why, but even after — I have a hard time saying the f word — I still want a waist that goes in and out. I want to see my feet more than ever. I hate myself for this need, as I live in a neighborhood where the wives of very rich men go from sunrise to bedtime hitting the treadmill, the yogi, the shrink, the kid's shrink, the pedicurist, the bikini waxer, the person who sprays you orange, the nutritionist, the masseuse, the facialist, the pelvic-floor firmer-upper...to ensure that every centimeter of their body is pert and pointed. They live in fear that if any part of them droops, their husband will replace them with a firmer, younger copy of themselves. I did not want to join this desperate brigade, nor do I have time in my life for 5,000 more sit-ups. You can spend five days a week at the gym on every part of your anatomy, but to me life is for the living. So after much deep inner thought, I went to a doctor and had my stomach sucked out (see liposuction), and yes, girls, I can see both feet. It's a miracle. Why, oh, why did I not have this done when I was five? For the wise bit, I do meditation and can deal with the onslaught of traffic in my brain by simply turning down the volume. Sadly, no one can ever turn off those critical voices that shout at you, so I metaphorically sit underwater and watch my demanding and critical thoughts go by on the surface above me. So there you have it, inside and outside, evolved and tight, self-awareness and sex appeal, all in one lifetime.

Warning: Do not confuse the two by having your brain sucked out and your waist enlightened.