I have a weakness for talking animal movies. Babe. Dr Dolittle. Beverly Hills Chihuahua (that might be the most embarrassing thing I have admitted here.) I suppose I watched either too much or not enough Mr. Ed as a kid.
Emily has inherited this love of mine. Together we were watching Racing Stripes, a plucky little film about a zebra named Stripes that thinks he is a race horse and the young girl that believes in him!
I was doing situps while watching this fine film and entertaining Lucy as she lolled about on the floor.
“You’ve been training Stripes haven’t you?” said the TV.
I started to laugh. Why yes, yes, I have, how kind of you to notice. I have been training Stripes. If by training Stripes you mean trying to embrace my wicked stretch marks and do something about the dangly skin they occupy. Progress has been slow. I know, I know, it took nine months to stretch the skin it will take at least that long for it to tighten up. But the greater truth? I have never exactly had anything resembling abdominal muscles. I’m not aiming for a six pack. I don’t expect to be able to sit down and not have pudge. I am 36. I have two kids. And I love beer, wine and peanut M&Ms. But it would be nice if my stomach didn’t hang over my jeans while I was standing up. That is a realistic goal, no?
And this friends, is how you polish a turd. Urban Dictionary defines turd polishing as “The act of trying to make something hopelessly weak and unattractive appear strong and appealing. An impossible process that usually results in a larger, uglier turd.”
I beg to differ. I think you can polish a turd.
Exhibit A: The Turd
Note the stretch marks, the muffin top and the beloved elastic waist maternity jeans. I know I should retire them. But they are so damn tasty, those jeans. And they love me so. It is my hope that in writing this I will shame myself in to letting them join their friends in the giant box of maternity clothes in my attic.
Exhibit B: The Bright & Shiny Turd
Lucy shall henceforth be named The Turd Polisher. It’s really all about your point of view. As she approaches six month’s old in July I am reminded that I will have ninety days to make good on the old “It took nine months to gain it, it will take nine months to lose it” rule.
I took the first picture yesterday. I was going to write about my progress towards accepting my post-second baby body. Yesterday, in my maternity jeans and feeling hard on myself I didn’t feel like I had made much progress at all.
This morning as I dressed to go for a jog Emily said “You know you could just wear that bra, it is like a running bra, so it is okay to not wear a shirt.” And I looked in the mirror with Lucy on my hip and I thought maybe she was on to something.
I think I am gonna ditch those jeans. And I am getting dangerously close to being the lady at the pool with all the tattoos that pees in the shower and wears a bikini even when she probably shouldn’t. If you can’t tone it, tan it.
Excitement on the side 
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You’re beautiful
Thank you!!
So I don’t blog and I find much enjoyment and nodding along with your posts but today you hit the nail on the head! So I was working from “home” yesterdayk, which my sister convinced me could be my parent’s home, aka: the Pool! I completely rocked a bikini, okay truth be told, I didn’t rock it as in look good in it, I rocked it as in wore it and tried really hard not to care or judge. I knew my sister would understand being her baby just turned one this weekend and it was just us at the pool, so I wore my stripes proud and actually said to her, if it won’t be flat and tight, it will be tan! So keep on keepin on because sometimes you just have to let go! Maybe one day I will be that woman that should not be wearing the bikini in public but can get away with it because you take notice of her confidence and not her stripes…
I like that, taking note of her confidence. :)
Far more impressive to me than your turd-polished abs is your stainless-steel sense of self-worth that remains undaunted by a few stretch marks…I don’t know how you managed to escape the Vito curse of bad body image, but girlie it appears that you have! You make a mother proud. :-)
oh, kelly. you look wonderful. we truly are our own worst enemies.
i went running yesterday for the first time in my running bra w/out a shirt on over it. it was just too fucking hot. i knew that my stomach wasn’t anywhere what i wanted it to be when i passed other runners, but it was liberating! no more tanks over my sports bras on runs. not in florida summer, anyway.
You’re ahead of me. But you started out ahead of me. ;P Funny that we were having that same inner dialogue at the same time. July… it;s just too damn hot, man.