Frog Princess

Did you read Lucy's recent post about self-esteem and body image? Krista then followed up with her own honest piece about her reasons for having breast enhancement surgery some years ago. In Krista's case, it was her then boyfriend who triggered the onset of feeling less comfortable with her appearance. Lucy suggests that we seem to have an innate ability to remember and extrapolate 'truth' from a single negative comment, whereas any number of compliments are instantly forgotten, or dismissed as mere politeness. Krista's response to one comment from her ex would seem to bear this out.

I also agree that despite many many opinion pieces on the subject - and the very existence of the vile misogynistic rag which is the Daily Mail "Look! This woman has aged in the 30 years since she made that film where she looked sexy! Let's ridicule her!"- the blame for my own vacillating self esteem cannot be placed at the feet of the media. I'm not an idiot, and thankfully not in the public eye. Whilst I'm aware that my pasty pins would look infinitely better with a tan, I have never felt the urge to sport a complexion which is   two parts Tango to three parts Ronseal. And I think we're all aware by now that magazines and ad agencies use and abuse Photoshop in their cover girl hatchet jobs. Some are beyond ridiculous -  the people at Ralph Lauren are obviously so inured to his own er, individual look, that a model's hair being twice the width of her waist could be overlooked with ease:

whereas others do take a second glance. I have no idea who Mariska Hargitay is, but I'm pretty sure she's a beautiful woman, who doesn't actually have the proportions of a Blythe doll reflected in a fun-house mirror: 

No, I don't blame the media. I occasionally succumb to the glossy lure of Grazia when I'm in Tescos and the kids are nagging for some over-priced kids mag with a shabby plastic toy on the front, but I always regret it afterwards. Not because I'm sobbing at the fact I'll never look like Cheryl Cole, but because the cover story is such a non-event. 'My new body' exclusives are beyond tedious at the best of times [we get it, you used your millions to pay for a personal trainer, or you got lipo. Yawn] but this isn't even a story of flab to fab. This is the same thin famous woman, continuing to look famous and thin. Just in a different outfit. If I'd bought this, I'd only have my own defective reasoning abilities to blame.

 I'm not denying that Cheryl has a 'killer body' in the main photograph,

but she appears have exactly the same one in the inset picture. Surely she got 'from this, to THIS' merely by taking her T-shirt off and swapping her trousers for some leopard print knickers?

THERE'S NOTHING DIFFERENT ABOUT HER! 

Feelunique.com's mock-up of 'the perfect woman', having asked shoppers about their most admired parts of female celebrities. "She has Angelina Jolie’s pillow lips, Megan Fox’s perfectly shaped eyebrows and The Duchess of Cambridge’s long glossy hair". She also has a neck to rival the Karen hill-tribe 'giraffe' women of Thailand, but strangely that's not mentioned... 

So who do I blame, if not these ludicrous magazines or societal pressure? It's my children. Seriously. Is it not enough that pregnancy, birth and breastfeeding wreak all kinds of havoc on your hitherto peachy body? Apparently not. I wouldn't mind, but mine also feel the need to point out the damage they’ve inflicted. Yeah, you supermodels or new mummy bloggers can describe your c-section scars or stretch marks as ‘badges of honour’ as much as you like, but you’re not fooling me.  After 36 hours of labour and emergency abdominal surgery I didn’t want a badge of honour. I wanted a fucking medal and 3 weeks in the Caribbean to recuperate. And now I’d like a boob-lift and a bottom which isn’t like a ‘wibble wobble jelly’ please. [direct quote from Boy2. Although whilst we were in Scotland he appeared as I was getting dressed and had apparently changed his diagnosis. Instead, my bottom was "very wrinkly. Like because you've been in the bath". I hadn't. I think I preferred his original opinion]

Yes, whilst I’ve somehow managed to spawn children with the looks of Botticelli cherubs – they’re not even adopted – regrettably they possess a level of tact somewhere between Simon Cowell and Janice Dickinson from America's Next Top Model.  Once you become a mother, the mere act of singing in the shower – once a simple pleasure, tolerated by an indulgent boyfriend –  is now likely to be punctuated by a small child observing you critically through the curtain and saying something like “Are you doing a wee Mummy? It looks like it. You’re making my ears hurt. I need to do a poo”.  On one memorable occasion I was asked "is your willy poking out?” When I replied in the negative and explained that girls and ladies didn’t have willies, he replied triumphantly – “Just balls!”.

Hmm, which would you say was wobblier? Mummy's bottom or dessert?

And don't think it's just my post-baby body which comes under scrutiny. When their gimlet gaze is lifted from my nether regions for a moment, I am treated to reminders about my need to buy pore-minimising cream "Your nose has little holes" and to keep up with a more regular schedule of depilation "You're all prickly!". At least my boobs are deemed "nice and fat", which I think is a compliment. Though Grandad was less pleased when his were noted.

Oh, but there was the time that Boy2 turned to me and said, "You look beautiful Mummy". I preened a little and began to thank him, whereupon he finished "Beautiful as a frog!". I guess to a three year old that could be considered high praise - I do get a lot of kisses after all.

Me.

Do you have any children in your life? Are you the Princess or the frog in theirs?

Lakota x

Don't forget to sign up for the third Faith Hope and Charity Swap - Jubilee year Special! Loads of people have joined up already - and it's open all over the world.