Last night I logged onto Myspace for the first time in oh, about a year. I decided to peruse my old photo albums there, because they are a lot more organized and well-stocked than my Facebook pictures, which I’ve never bothered to categorize into albums, because Facebook can still stymie me. (But that’s another post. User friendly my arse!)
I was a little blown away. There were so many old modeling photos that I hadn’t seen in ages. My modeling portfolio is nestled away, somewhere dark and cavernous and hidden, so I don’t have easy access to it to look at it and ache to go back to those moments where I felt a high, where I felt beautiful and thin and powerful and unstoppable.
And then I looked down and saw this:
And then I went like this:
And realized that right now, at this moment, for better or worse, I chose motherhood over modeling. I chose to carry and make a little widget that will give me stretch marks and make me a little flabby and turn my belly-button into a snooze button. I went guts over glory, man.
And I sat for awhile, pondering (entire unhealthily, I realize) if I would still look that thin if I could erase the baby bump. Would my collar-bones jut out just so; would my bowed thighs and the hollows of my cheeks match up? Or would I need to lose a few pounds first?
...And why the hell does it matter? And why do I think that fat and pregnant are synonymous? I’ve got what you’d call a perception problem.
So I left my old modeling album, and clicked on an album that said “Cade and the Fam.” And in it I saw this
And I decided, quite satisfied, that I’d choose this
This isn’t fat. Right? Don’t you just wanna hug this big ‘ol barrel of love? ;)