Wedding Weekend in Chatham, Part the First

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I know you’ve all been madly refreshing your browser or checking your bloglines this week to find out what WHAT?! I wore this weekend after all of my blood, sweat and tears to trim down. /Drum roll please/

The winner was not this little number from my closet (in which, btw, I am much boobier and hippier than this Nordstrom model):

…but a classic black cocktail dress instead, because I decided it was more comfortable. And I won the smokin’ hot war war in it, too.

Quote from my friend’s mother: Oh! You look so skinny! Is this what motherhood does? Doesn’t she look skinny?

Nevermind that she’s seen me over the last ten years at exactly this same weight. Nevermind that I found it kind of apalling that this was her main exclamation upon greeting me and that she repeated it again to the people sitting at the table during the reception while I was at the bar. And nevermind that there were two other women at the table who were larger than I am, who might have found the comment about size a little…shall we say, insulting? The whole thing just proves that some people have a picture of what you look like and who you are in their minds from some point in the past and cannot move beyond that moment to what’s going on in reality. Like, ever.

So I guess I felt more like “me” at the wedding than I did prior to my 3-week workout challenge (stronger and fitter even if not many lbs lighter). But I was frustrated, I think as all people who ever lose noticeable weight become, with the obvious objectification that seems to naturally come when you change size. A clarification here about all of this: during high school and college, I was a good 20-30lbs heavier than I’ve been for the last ten years. I ate a lot because that was my coping mechanism for anxiety and general unhappiness. (It still kind of is because you know what? It’s more socically acceptable than using drugs or drinking too much. Sigh.) Near the end of college I decided I’d had enough, that I felt physically terrible all the time, and I did a little mental re-programming with the help of a few books. 

I’m sliding a bit off-topic here. I think my point is that I achieved my work-out goals and felt more like me (because that’s what it’s all about in my book), and I received the positive reaction at my friend’s wedding that I sought, but I’m still heavier than I’d like and annoyed that other people objectify me and that I objectify myself. Confused? Me too.

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In related news, my last post about Mommy Makeovers was quoted on the Blogher website last week, which ahem, I think is a little cool. But I’m not bringing this to your attention because I think it’s kind of neat, but because the comments to Susan Warner’s editorial reminded me of a clarification I wanted to make about my own stand on the plastic surgery issue. A few of the comments on Warner’s post argue that women shouldn’t be criticizing one another for these personal choices becacuse we should stay away from the “Mommy Wars” situtations (a la the stay-at-home mothers vs. the working-mothers)  and join together and hold hands because respect for all choices is the best way to go.

I don’t agree with this on the plastic surgery issue. You can’t be a woman who loooves the Dove self-esteem-girl-love campaign and also be a woman who needs a boob job to feel good about herself. You can want the boob job because you’ve been indoctrinated by society to believe that your body’s progression over time is not attractive, but succumbing to the pressure and actually getting the boob job is not walking the walk. I can’t promise that in twenty years when I look, well, clearly not thirty anymore, that I won’t feel tempted by Botox or a little lipo for my saddlebags, but if I can’t handle ageging and I go ahead and have those procedures done, I’ll sure as hell be judging myself for being superficial and weak. And I’d expect other people to judge me too.

BUT, the clarification I want to make is that of course I do think plastic surgery has its place. Of course if you’ve had a mastectomy or been in an accident and are disfigured, plastic surgery is a miraculous way to feel whole again. It’s a medical specialty that has its place and purpose. I just don’t think it should be so widely used as a method to add further social pressure about superficialities and financial strain to the job of motherhood.  

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Filed under body image, boston, exercise = energy, feminism, madness, travels