Sitting in a cafe the other day, pecking away on my laptop, and savoring a piping-hot cup of coffee, I had no idea I was about to be stripped naked with a stranger’s unwelcome words. I was far too busy reveling in my kid-free morning, a true rarity for me.
My older daughters were at school, and I’d just dropped my youngest off for her third morning of preschool. Now, I couldn’t help but wonder, Was this my life? No whining, or crying, or repeat-trips to the bathroom, or sentence-interruption, or outdoor voices inside, for an entire hour? It felt indulgent, it felt soul-cleansing, it felt –
“You look familiar,” a man’s voice said suddenly from a nearby table. “Is your name Lauren?”
I looked to my right to see a middle-aged man settled at his laptop, wearing a dress shirt and tie, sipping his own cup of steamy, hot coffee, and regarding me closely.
“No, not Lauren,” I replied politely, smiling.
“Well, you look familiar,” he told me again, clearly trying to draw me into conversation. And against my better judgment, I took the bait, and proceeded to engage in what I believed would be harmless small-talk.
What did I do? “I’m a writer. Using this time, without kids, to get as much done as possible.”
How many kids did I have? “Three.”
And then, he hit me with it. A slow look, up and down my body, that my daughters would describe as “icky,” and a far-too-personal observation: “You’ve had three kids? Wow you look great. I never would have thought you had three kids!”
Wait. Before you think to yourself, he was giving you a compliment. Stop. Because although this stranger’s words were not cruel, I believe he crossed a line with what he said.
How, I implore, was my body after baby any of this random man’s business? Why did he think it was okay to look at my body, and talk about my body? My body, whether to his liking or not, is none of his business!
In that moment, I murmured a barely-intelligible “thanks,” and quickly redirected my attention to my computer screen. I couldn’t help but feel like I’d been verbally assaulted! And now, I sat there, trying to make my body as small as possible, scrunching down in my chair, exposed, vulnerable, and humiliated.
I soon got up to use the restroom, and could feel this man’s gaze following my movements. Behind the closed door, I wanted to cry. Not out of sadness, but anger! I. Just. Felt. So. Mad. That a man, I didn’t even know, had reduced me to just my body, and had regurgitated an unacceptable, disgusting stereotype to boot!
Because how was I supposed to look? Really, in this man’s mind, what exactly was a woman’s body after kids supposed to look like? So repulsive that it was simply unfit for public viewing?
Well, I have news for this man, and every other person, male or female, who has developed similar, frankly dangerous preconceived notions of how a woman’s body after baby should be. You need to understand this one plain truth: Every one of us is different. We come in all shapes and sizes. And we are all beautiful. Because we are mothers. And that means we are strong every day, and that in and of itself is beautiful.
And P.S., we are SO MUCH MORE than our bodies, and how they look in clothes, and if they are toned, or kinda squishy, or skinny, or curvy, or small, or big, or ropy-poly, or voluptuous, or athletic, or whatever adjective we choose to describe them.
But more than anything, our bodies are none of your business! So keep your comments to yourselves. Especially if we don’t know you. And, you’re like, old enough to be our dads.
Have you ever had an experience like this?
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