I got this picture sent to me via email. And it made me laugh, sad and angry all at the same time. Apparently it was a competition whereby these women had every possible beauty treatment available to them (including plastic surgery I would guess).
The message, I suppose, is this: If you had money and access to all these beauty resources, you too could look this ‘good’.
It’s almost bewildering to think about. If you had infinite cash, plastic surgeon neighbors, make-up artists (the What Not to Wear variety as opposed to, say, those who work on Stargate Atlantis), hairdressers (who could care less about your full blown phobias), dietitians (that put you on the strict diet of a single pea with a pile of yams) and trainers (who inevitably turn out to be ex-Marines on a Steroid-Crack combo that screams at you until you are scared for your life), then you too could look just like a Pamela Anderson clone. That, or John Travolta in drag.
I am just so over celebrity and fashion and beauty. I do not want to deal with airbrushed magazines, extreme makeover shows, or starving runway models anymore. I do not care if a celebrity has gained 10lbs or is too skinny or has dyed her hair.
I don’t really want to be here whining about it either.
I guess having a daughter has made me more aware of the issue. I could not have ever imagined that I would already be dealing with this when my girl is a mere 6 months old. For months I have thought I was just being really sensitive about the matter. But I have come to realize, in all of its absurdity, that people are already judging my daughter. Even if they do not realize they’re doing it.
Kaya is in the 99th percentile for weight for her age. Which brings me boundless pride. I am proud of her and her growing. I am also proud of my self and my body for being able to provide her sustenance that has her thriving.
Yet the more she grows, the more I am faced with “Oh, wow, she’s so, so healthy!” At first I thought this was hilarious. The first woman who said it was an older woman in a scrapbooking store. I laughed and said ‘Yes, she’s my lil rolly polly girl!’ I was oblivious to the fact that this woman did not think this was a good thing.
Are we truly that consumed with weight that we would deny my gorgeous, growing baby her liquid gold?
The more I hear “She’s so healthy”, the more I hear a tone along with it suggesting I had better be careful. It would not irk me so much if this tone were not reserved specifically for female babies. I know, I know, that is so annoying to hear and you want to roll your eyes at my overreaction. Trust me, I tried to believe I was reading into things but when I see a beautifully chubby boy, I hear “Oh, he’s such a big boy! He’s going to be a rugby player! What a cutie!”
None of that ever happens with Kaya. Always “Wow, she’s so healthy” with an unstated suggestion that I keep an eye on her weight.
So I beg of you now, if you run into us on the street, please tell me what an adorably pudgy baby I have. Tell me she’s a big girl. Tell me she’s cute and chubby. Tell me she’s going to be a Sumo Wrestler. Just do not tell me anymore that she is healthy.
Unless, of course, you really mean it.