Big Mommas

Stop the presses!  This just in: Children need big mommas.

I had started a post on my conflicted feelings about assigning labels to my kids.  But then I heard this, from a good friend about another friend, who is rather rotund:

Oh yeah, baby.  This could change everything.  And before you start writing in with all of the reasons it’s not a great idea to be overweight, give it a minute to sink in.

Last year, our housemates had a spitfire of a daughter.  She was spunky, and fun, and energetic.  And she did NOT want to sit still.  And she certainly did not want to sit still in someone’s lap.  Except, of course, in my lap.  She would jump right into that lap, put her head on my shoulder, and let me rub her back.  At the time, I consoled her mother with, “It’s nothing personal.  You’re just not squishy enough.”

I don’t think her mom was too envious of my squish, though.  And the truth is I would love to have less squish.  Except when Ezra is snuggling in and saying, “You’re so soft, Mommy.  Much softer than Daddy.”

Or when Zach pushes on my stomach like he’s feeling the Pillsbury Dough Boy and then his face breaks into a wide grin.  For five or ten minutes a week, I like being squishy.

But with this new mother-as-soft-landing-pad logic, perhaps I could like my body for an hour or two a week.  And then maybe a day or two.  Who knows where this could go?

What if to be softer mothers, we have to let go of our desire for hard bodies?  Okay, I admit, this isn’t an air-tight argument. But wouldn’t it be great if the best thing you could do for your kids is eat dessert? Or for some of us, a second desert?