The Big, Flabby, Overhanging Overshare.

I don't promise that what I'm gonna talk about right now isn't gonna gross you out. Don't promise that this'll make you like me better. I don't promise I'll even have a point. And I definitely don't promise that there will be a moral to this story.

I just wanna talk. Apparently I want to get it all out there. In an overshare kind of way.

I visited a plastic surgeon for a consultation last week. Oh, also, this will not be an argument on whether or not plastic surgery is or is not okay. That's definitely not what this is about.

Anyway-- I visited a plastic surgeon. And I still have blue marker lines and dots that won't scrub off all over my stomach.

People, my stomach is a mess. 4 kids later, and it's just a big blob of extra skin. I guess, I don't know-- I guess I wanted to know if something could be done that was relatively minor to fix the problem. A friend teased me,

"You were hoping for some magic cream weren't you? Or 'take two of these and call me in the morning', weren't you?"

Yeah. Pretty much.

So I stood in front of that very nice doctor while he drew marker all over my stomach and discussed options, and I have never in my life felt so. . . uncomfortable. Self Conscious. Nude. Weak. Vulnerable. It was not cool, man. Not cool at all.

And then I realized that besides myself and my husband, no one has ever seen my mess of a stomach, until this doctor, and I wanted to keep it that way forever.

I have no freaking idea why I'm doing this. I'm gonna show you my stomach. So I went from a total of 3 people ever seeing it, and now I'm potentially showing the whole world. I'm getting nervous and anxious just typing about it.

For me, this is like the monster in the closet. The thing under the bed. For some reason it embarrasses me and makes me feel bad and sad and kinda broken-like.

And apparently all I have the guts to do right now is show you from the side. You know what I realized when I was thinking about this all week?

I have felt guilty and ashamed that I did something wrong, like maybe, if I would have like, not eaten like a giant pig when I was pregnant and maybe worked out some more then this wouldn't have happened. I could have avoided it.

Okay. That's over. I'm throwing that out the window. I don't need to feel guilty over something that stupid.

Oh heck. Should I show you from the front?

Oh wow. It looks even worse in this picture than when I stare at it in the mirror. Can't even say how many times I've gathered that skin up and hid it with my hands and pretended like it wasn't there. The doctor even did that and was like "If we could just make this go away. . .the skin around it is fine. . ."

Yeah, I know. I say that almost daily. Just in case you were wondering, this would take a "mini" tummy tuck (although I don't see why it classifies as mini since as you can see the cut would be hip to hip), at least one long incision, probably more like 3, and $4,000 to repair.

My daughter saw my stomach with it's blue marker, and said "What happened to your stomach, mom?"

And so I explained. The doctor drew the lines. My skin is the way it is because I had you guys. And she said,
"I hope that never happens to me."

"Which part? The marker or my skin?"

"Your skin. I don't want that to happen to my stomach."

She's five. She knows not what she says. She didn't intend to be the least bit mean.


Okay at this point I'm trying not to cry. Never mind I failed. But you know what? I'm over it. I accept it.

That was a total lie.

I'm not over it, and I don't accept it. But I'm going to try to accept it, from here on out.

This is not where I give you this big shpill about how these are my war wounds and my kids were worth it blah blah blah, even though they were and are worth it. I'm not proud of my scars. I'm just working toward being okay with it.

And you know what? While I'm at it, I'll work towards being okay with every single last part of me.

Maybe you think I'm ungrateful. I do too, actually. But honestly I thank God every morning that I wake up healthy and able to work on a daily basis. I know this, this up there, is vanity. I do. Nobody really cares about my stomach. I thought my husband cared. I told him I'd get a mini tummy tuck if he wanted me to, and he was like, "What? For me? Why would you do that for me? I have never cared."

He's a good man, that Jeffro. I guess all I'm saying is it's my turn to learn not to care.
Thanks for listening.