Modern Mother versus PT

Most of my good blog ideas begin with email exchanges with my girlfriends. Today is no exception.

The incident that sparked conversation was simple. Wife with child attends an event with husband. Husband sees someone he knows and gives her a big smile-filled, somewhat flirty hug. Huggie (hereon called "Perky Tits") is completely oblivious to Wife with Child. Wife reacts. Husband is oblivious (well, technically, husband wasn't involved in the discussion so, to be fair, we don't really know what Husband has to say about it).

Here's my gut thoughts about how I would have reacted to Perky Tits: I know that Dave's committed and all that, but when a Miss I-don't-have-a-millimeter-of-stretch-marks gets that close to my husband, I don't care how secure I think I am, part of me goes "NO NO!! that's MY husband! BACK OFF!" then that part says "DAMNIT DAVE, Have you no SHAME? don't you REALIZE that you're MARRIED? Fucker."

Here's my dirty mother confession. I hate to admit to it, but it is here nonetheless. Somehow, having been pregnant and had a baby makes me feel less desirable in the whole mix of things. I've heard all the crap about how the pregnant body is a beautiful vessel of life and motherhood is glorious and all of that, but when it comes down to it, my experiences up until motherhood have told me something different. Until you're legitimately married and all that, pregnancy is definitely not smiled upon. Single moms should and do have my utmost respect, don't get me wrong, but when it comes to cultural cliche, it just ain't sexy. Woman's got baggage. No matter how you try to avoid it, no matter how much the single moms you personally know break every mold, the judgement has already been made. Well, as a 25 year old mother of (almost) two, I feel the judgement and baggage despite filling all the right status quo. I'm happily married and plan to stay that way for a long, long time. I love being a mom. Love it. But when it comes to the deep dark corners of my psyche, I confess I see myself as tainted in certain ways because I'm a mom.

Dave didn't go through that the same way. I mean, sure, he's a father now but.... if all hell broke loose in our relationship, I feel like he's more "marketable" in the dating world than I. And somehow, that drives my jealousy up a notch for Miss Perky Tits. He'll go out with his friends and (I know he's not thinking it, but he) CAN be just like he was when he was in college and single and feeling no attachments. Me on the other hand, go out with girlfriends now (because really, what do men have to offer me at this point) and chat -- mostly about motherhood, wifedom and other plights of modern women. I don't flirt -- even harmlessly because it just seems like wasted energy. I don't even want to flirt -- I mean, I remember it being fun, but I really have no interest in doing it now -- and the possibility that it might be taken the wrong way and I'd get into a big emotional thing just exhausts me. Wherever I go, my body is permanently marred by scars (in some cases literally) of motherhood. I have stretchmarks, saggier boobs, and the perpetual worry that any moment away from my baby might be one I'll regret. As much as I hate to admit it, when Dave gets any interest from someone, it pisses me off because somewhere, deep inside, it feels like for him, whether he's interested or not, there's possibility there where with me, I rarely get interest and when I do it's either A) from girlfriend who is just being flattering or B) just laughable because, did you know? I have kids.

I realize it's all about attitude. What's stopping us Wives with Kids from going out and flirting and partying like the Husbands? As far as I can see, it's just our responsible maternal crap that's holding us back. Why are we restricting ourselves? Then comes the bitter-bridget that says, Why AREN'T they holding themselves back --- they have kids too!!!! But then realistically, I don't want to be who I was 5 years ago. I've lived, changed, grown in the last 5 years and I'm proud of the improvements I've made. I'm a better person, right? Yeah, sure, but Perky Tits? if you're reading, go find a shirt with a collar and replace the wonder bra with something sporty -- and preferably granny-panties instead of the thong I see climbing four inches above your waistband.

Realistically? I'm very insecure. I really want my husband to look at every other woman in the whole world and then look me straight in the eye with complete honesty and no prodding whatsoever, and tell me (convincingly) why she sucks and I'm a goddess. I want him to look at me in awe every day because I forced his child out of my hoochie and can still give Mr. Penis a squeeze and drive his eyes back into his head. I want him to tell me until I get sick of hearing it that he feels like he's the luckiest person in the world to have me with him -- and I want new, honest answers for why I can kick Angelina Jolie's ass (probably more figuratively than literally, because Angelina seems to be way more fit than I am) any day of the week and twice on Sunday. I want him to be totally turned on by my ridiculous pregnant figure so that he can convince me that even though I feel like a cow in maternity clothes, he honestly and truly wants to screw my brains out. I want him to bore his friends with "isn't my wife wonderful" crap every once in a while. I want him to ask me probing questions because he really wants to know what I think about politics/philosophy/social concerns and he thinks that my input is insightful and valid. (Actually, I want that from the whole world.) I want him to be the person that another girl looks at and says to herself, I can't have him because he loves his wife so damn much, but I hope I can find someone who'll love me that much. I want all of that but it isn't going to happen. And if it did, I'd probably find some of it annoying and some of it just unrealistic. But I'd like to try a week of it just the same.

I think that men don't generally understand that women need such constant support. They figure, I told I love you, and I'm still wearing the ring, isn't that enough? I didn't tell you anything's changed, so why would you assume something's different? Therefore, they find themselves totally amiss when Wife gets upset by Perky Tits. There's a lot of back story that they just don't see.

Post-child, I've changed. And so have my views and reactions to other women.

My insecurities about being "damaged good" become a flaming beacon of bitchiness when Perky Tits comes onto my radar. Instead of the competition I may have felt for her when I was single, I see her in a whole different class. A class I simulatiously feel beyond and beneath. On the one hand, I've snagged my man. I've ended the single quest, reached my goal. On the other, I've got kids so this one better stick around because if I had to play the game again, well, my tits sure wouldn't be in the perky category anymore (if they were ever there to start) and the thong might never find its way out of my post-birth behind if it ever were to make its way there in the first place.

I look at women who have had children in a totally different light now that I've become a mother as well. It's an awe. A new respect. Birth is just the beginning and Mothers know that. Mothers know that labor is natures way of teaching you, real fast, that all your personal shit goes out the window for this child. During delivery, it's very physical. You poop in front of others, bleed, fart, scream -- all the things composure doesn't allow you to do regularly. From the moment that baby comes out, you don't have another singular personal moment thought as a mother. Even as I was getting my massage this week -- total "me" time right? -- nope, I'm thinking "I hope Rhianna had a good day at daycare....I wonder if she'll ever get to have a massage if she's ever pregnant.... I hope that if she does get pregnant that she's happy with her decision to be a mom....." Not that I'm complaining at all -- I love being a mom and I love Rhianna a ridiculous amount. But I'm truly amazed at how much I love her -- I really didn't know I was capable of and what was all involved in Motherhood. And when I see other moms (ok, sometimes I think, take a shower already or on my more bitter days, you're a mom, dress less like a slut but) for the most part, on the feminist-books, I'm thinking, Wow. She's doing it too. She's doing this overwhelming, loving, completely consuming mother thing too. Women rock. We're so freaking amazing it's just unbelievable.

But do men have that respect? I did have a hint the other day that Dave sorta does. His college friends just had a baby last week and he called Mike to congratulate him. Dave asked if he was there for the birth and MIke said he was and Dave goes,
"Doesn't it make you feel like a schmuck? I mean, they just did this death-defying thing and you just want to take a nap." But does the amazement fade into a distant memory when the vision of Perky Tits crosses his path? Or is it really there but just not "sexy" so they don't show it in the mass media?

As far as I know, men look at a woman and it's the same question: Butt? nice. Tits? good. Bigger tits? excellent. It seems like it's unfair of me to simplify men in that way. Are they really that shallow? Surely we Wives wouldn't have married them if they were.

Nonetheless, when a Wife sees Perky Tits, I think she passes a lot of judgement -- both on herself and on PT. She questions herself, her own worth, and wonders whether Husband secrety wants to ditch Child and Wife and bury his face in the fake-baked bossom that's irritatingly on display for all to see. Wife wants to feel that being the mother to his child has made her sexier and more desirable than any other woman in history -- that any tits that draw his eyes away from her post-nursing hooters will never hold a candle to those that nurished his child. But is that there? Is it true? or is it just something Wife is trying to delude herself into believing because she must in order to survive?

I think it's true... ...but I still want Perky Tits to invest in a turtle-neck, a baggy sweatshirt and stay away from my husband until she's either joined the Motherhood alliance (and hopefully not lost much of her pregnancy weight) or turned 65. Maybe both. Either way, and that point PT and I can be good friends. Maybe.

Or at the very least, give me a hug too -- and offer me one of those drinks you're holding because, trust me, I deserve it.