Fat (With Pictures!)

Regardless of your sex, age, race, gender identity, marital or socioeconomic status…even education level, fat is something that plays a role in how one views the self.  I don’t care if you say that you are completely content with your outward appearance (which I’m sure few people would say), attention to anatomy is one thing we as Americans all have in common, unfortunately -- don’t you wish you could focus on something that mattered. 

As much as I’d like to say it does not, our feelings of self worth are so tied to the way we look - and I am not avant-garde in presuming this.  Thus, it does matter.  You can't stand in line at a grocery store without being bombarded with the message (aimed mostly at women, but increasingly more at men) that you can lose weight fast; you can look perfect if you take this; you can be who you want to be if spend money on this product or take this article’s advice.  How many different commercials peddling the magical cure of your fatness interrupt your favorite soaps?   Certain spam is aimed at the email addresses of certain demographics - obviously missing the mark on the many occasions I receive penis enlargement promos.  Those obnoxious banner ads on your most frequented websites even tout the benefits of taking whatever ridiculously named product.  I’ll even serenade you with the most recent weight loss product commercial on memory – shake your sensa much? 

As a young lass conquering my middle school awkwardness, and growing into my high school rebelliousness, my jelly roll was my main concern: it was the little pooch that hung between my belly button and the button of my jeans.   No amount of pushups destroyed this thing and let me tell you, I would do hundreds every night fueled by relentless jelly roll hatred.  Mind you, I was a skinny little twerp.

Proof  that body issues affect everyone.  I have probably pissed off many by complaining.

Jumping forward a few years, after high school and into college I grew into myself.   A loud, confident personality with no room for image issues – granted, they lingered as they likely do for even the most self-loving individual.  Once I realized that no matter how skinny I am, I will have muffin top in certain clothes; that no one notices my butt dimples as much as I do; that everyone jiggles a little when they walk; that no, I will never lose the jelly roll.  And by the way Caitlin, all women have a little jelly roll - that airbrushing and Photoshop is partly to blame for the images constantly thrust in my face.  I came to a point in my life where I was comfortable with myself. 

Then pregnancy happened.   As I got bigger, people constantly told me how beautiful I was.  I swear, this is the only time in a woman’s life where the fatter she is, the more compliments she receives; moreover, everyone told me how tiny I was!  

  

Never tell a woman late in the stages of pregnancy that she is 'tiny.'  She likely does not agree.

And it was perfect!   I ate a ton, I mocked my shifting body, I danced for everyone because it looked funny and I literally had the perfect excuse for everything: 

Hungry?  Tired?  Feeling fat?  Walking around naked?  Don’t want to pick that up?  Picking your nose?  Have horrendous gas?  Leaving the house in a moo-moo?  Sleeping in the middle of the day? 

That’s okay, you’re pregnant. 

What I found most amusing was how when I called myself fat – in a proud, jesting manner – whomever was around would quickly jump to my aid with the same line every time: “you aren’t fat.  You’re PREGNANT” -- as if I didn’t know.   Hey, thanks for telling me!   I find it depressing that even the word ‘fat’ carries such a negative connotation.  That a fat person – oh, that’s they’re fault.  But if you’re pregnant, you at least have a good excuse to be…dare I say, fat. 

Where am I going with this?  I don’t know either.  I saw an image of Jessica Simpson via the internet, and she was pregnant – what many might deem a brick house; the un-pretty kind of pregnant.  The formerly petite bombshell has received much flack for her new body – to which I respond with a [pardon my French] ‘shut the hell up’ – or more accurately, a ‘who cares.’ I have lately spent much time looking at my own post-partum body and developed some mild post-partum depression (only kidding – that is a serious condition not to be taken lightly…the way I just did).  After seven weeks, I still cannot fit comfortably into old clothes, my stretch marks are raging pink flames...now my jelly roll jiggles and sneaks above my pants to dangle alla ‘muffin top’ – in whatever I wear.  Every day I weigh myself much to Mr.  Patrick's chagrin…yup, [insert number] more pounds to go until pre-pregnancy weight; yup, the roll still jiggles when I move like that; nope my pants still don’t button comfortably. 

Why do I care so much?  I’ll tell you why: 

Throughout my entire life, I have been told who and what I have to be in order to be conventionally pretty.   I have been indoctrinated into American’s need-to-be-skinny culture (regardless of the vigorous obesity epidemic).  I am told from a very young age a very narrow definition of beauty, including narrow waistlines among other pieces of the image puzzle.  Not only am I told what beauty is, I am told that I am only worth something if I fit within that definition of beautiful. 

So here’s the question: who created the designation, and when was it created?  I have my ideas and my answer, but we should all evaluate it for ourselves.  At some point in every person’s life, we ought to look within ourselves and figure out when it was that we decided we were or were not beautiful and who/what led us to that decision.  Truth is, we are all beautiful.  I hate to wring out old, tired clichés but it is true.  There is something about every person (a lot of somethings, maybe only one something) that is worthwhile – physically or otherwise.  And of course, that other ‘beholder’ cliché: we all see beauty in our own way, defining every person based on our own preferences. 

So when will I let go of the jelly roll?  Likely never.  But hey, realizing I have a problem is the first step, right?   So here are some images which are admittedly really difficult to post, but here goes.   Another step towards acceptance?   

(It better be.)

Meet Jelly Roll: side view; pants buttoned, attempting to ignore the urge to suck him in.

 Pants unbuttoned because that is most comfortable.

 Painful close-up of the jelly roll.

Like those stretch marks?  Special thanks to my son, Elijah.

On a completely different note, I have to admit that I liked most of my friends more when they were fat, before they lost weight.  What a cruel thing to say to someone who has finally achieved something they have likely obsessed over for any number of months or years.  But really, judgments and cruelty aside…I liked you more when you were fat.  Just adopt your fat personality and you’ll be likable again. 

Something to chew on: for whom do we aim to be beautiful?  For ourselves?  Our lovers?  Our potential lovers?  Our competition? 

And now I have to stick my boob into an angry nugget’s mouth.  One thing I do have to say is, I love my new boobs and hope they never go anywhere, being a woman who previously didn't fill out an A cup.

To another [beautifully fat] day!
Caitlin