Forget Valentine’s Day, it’s the day every woman looks forward to the most — the annual trip to the gynecologist.
As they called my name and led me down the hall to the little back room, I wasn’t nervous. Eight years of marriage and two kids later, I’ve certainly been there, done that. As they handed me my choice attire – which by the way, they said I could keep – my lovely pink, paper gown, the girl smiled and said, “We’ve got to get the worst part over first.”
Worst part? As if there were some part of this visit that was pleasant? Is there something new I don’t know about?
I had absolutely no idea what she meant, then I realized she was pointing to a scale on the floor.
I was beginning to panic thinking they had some new contraption proven to get the job done in a new, fun way. But really? Getting weighed – that’s what she was referring to?
This really made me start wondering … what is it with women?
I’m beginning to realize it’s not even the men of the world that are doing it to us. It’s us doing it to ourselves and to each other.
Pressuring … that’s what I’m talking about. Pushing each other to feel bad when we can’t achieve a certain unattainable standard. Even when you hit your goal weight, is it ever really enough?
But I realized one thing as I stepped on that scale, I wasn’t scared. And I wasn’t going to let someone even put the notion in my head.
At the same time, it got me thinking, I’m kind of glad I don’t have a daughter at this exact moment.
I wouldn’t want to have to raise her in a society where the worst part of going to the gynecologist is not being poked, prodded or felt up, but being weighed. How can you even explain that nonsense?
At what point did we ever begin to think this was OK?
I was one of those weird people who loved being pregnant. Of course, I didn’t have morning sickness whatsoever, but looking back I think it’s because I felt more confident about myself then, than I ever had before. It was the one time I didn’t feel people were judging me with some predisposed notion of how I should look.
When you are pregnant, everyone opens doors for you, wants to rub your belly for luck, understands when you are tired and smiles when they see you eating a donut … then they hand you another one.
As women, we get this at no other time.
In fact, we are supposed to look amazing, no matter what. Even if we are sleep-deprived, have no time to work out or just having a bad hair day because we haven’t had a chance in months to get it done. Smile and look your best!
Of course, these are the notions other women and the media, (let me make it clear -- not my husband) have put into my head. And you know what, I’m starting today to say no. We shouldn’t let other people dictate how we define ourselves.
Let’s be honest, women aren’t supposed to pop out a baby on Saturday and be bikini ready by Friday. We are so much more than that. We are mothers. We deserve better than putting each other down.
And we need set the example for our kids. The only thing I know to do is to be confident in who you are. Try to teach your kids the value of positive self-talk. Especially if you have little girls. Don’t let them buy into the hype.
I am going to stress to my boys to grow up and be the men that respect the women they marry, the mothers of their children, and to appreciate what they have been through. Raising little people in your belly wrecks hell on the body that can never be fully reversed.
We have to let our children know that beauty begins on the inside, but permeates to the outside. Who determines your self-worth? It begins with you. Don’t let other people try to change it. We can set the new standards, but we’ve got to be in it together … one mother to another.
