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I want them to know that this is the norm - not the nipped, tucked, and digitally enhanced images they’re going to be bombarded with. I don’t want to do them, or any women they might happen to see naked in the future, the disservice of telling them that saggy boobs are bad or that a little bit of flab is something to be ashamed of. And for boys, it’s not only making them confident about their own bodies, but letting them know that real is beautiful when it comes to the opposite sex. Instilling a positive body image is not an issue reserved for people with daughters.
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And though, like most women, I might beat myself up over my jeans getting too tight or groan in frustration at the numbers on the scale, I’m never anything but proud of my body in front of my boys, even when I feel the complete opposite inside. They see me make healthy food choices but still indulge in my love of baked goods. I tell them how strong my body is, and they see me work out. They see nothing imperfect about it, and that’s beautiful. Right now, it belongs to the woman they admire most. I want to say, “Leave my fat alone!” and run tearfully for the nearest oversized T-shirt (or, like, the nearest liposuction clinic).īut I don’t, because for right now, for these few formative years, my flab is their one and only perception of the female body. (Gaming references always hit home with dudes, no matter what you’re explaining.)Īs much as I’d like to cringe and shrink away when they touch my squishy belly, I let them squeeze my flab between their fingers. When they ask about my stretch marks, I tell them proudly how growing a baby is hard work and they’re like badges I’ve earned. But for the sake of my boys (and my future daughters-in-law), I lie through my teeth and never let them see that I’m anything less than confident about it. I’m dismayed, big-time, by my post-baby body. If I don’t, and their first images of a naked woman are the impossibly perfect physiques in those magazines or those movies, what kind of expectations will they have as adults? More importantly, what woman could ever live up to them? But I’ve never refrained from changing clothes in front of them, leaving the door open when I shower, or nursing my babies without a cover, because I want them to see what a real female body looks like. I don’t lounge around in the buff, and I spend more time saying, “Put on some pants!” than anything else. Those things are looming and will probably start happening much sooner than I’d like.īut before all that happens - before they start to notice pictures of boobs that are as round and firm as cantaloupes, and of taut, airbrushed, dimple-less butts - I’m exposing them to a different kind of female body: mine. I’d love to pretend my kids won’t be curious (I mean, if I had my druthers, a sexual thought wouldn’t even cross their minds until they’re like 25), but I’m well aware that won’t be the case. I may live with a houseful of boys, but they’re still relatively young, so there are no nudie mags stashed between mattresses, no stealthily accessed porn sites that someone forgot to erase out of the internet history, or anything like that - yet.