I’m not a big fan of keeping up with celebrities, with the
exception of Bon Jovi (Call me, Jon).
But on occasion, when I can’t sleep, I’ll tune into one of those late
night magazine shows and see what’s happened in the world outside of Nick Jr.
It was only a few nights back that the lead story turned to
Jessica Simpson’s weight. As a woman who
literally cheered when stretch pants made a come back, I have no reason to
judge Jessica’s weight gain. Then I
remembered that Jessica is pregnant.
I know I’m not the only momma who cried great big, giant
tears of joy upon seeing the double lines on the positive pregnancy test
because I finally had a legitimate reason to stop holding in my stomach. Pregnancy is the one time in a woman’s life
when she is allowed to gain weight without being judged by others or
herself. Personally, I started wearing
big, high-waisted maternity tops and yoga pants when I was approximately
36-hours pregnant with my first daughter, and I never stopped wearing said
fashion items until my younger daughter was three years old.
To see the media eat Jessica up because she had been eating
up chapped my stretch-marked hide.
“So, just how much weight has Jessica gained?” the
gossipmonger asked the insomnia-laden audience.
And because I was in the living room alone, I answered
her: Who cares?
I’ll be honest and let you know that I didn’t gain a significant
amount of weight when I was pregnant with my daughters, but when the numbers
got bigger and bigger at my gynecologist office, even he was smart enough to
not make mention of it. I was
healthy. My baby was healthy. There’s nothing more to discuss here. Move along.
I think Jessica looks smashing. I adore that she’s not afraid to pack on the
baby pounds. Even though, I scoffed at
those mommas who train 12 hours with a world famous member of the former
Eastern-European women’s wrestling team a day after leaving the hospital until
they have their pre-baby bodies back, I hope Jessica bounces back even
quicker. The first few days after I was
home from the hospital, I needed a trainer to help me pull my body up from the
bed! I know for a fact, my daughters
would be mother-less today if anyone even suggested that I hop on an elliptical.
If the machine didn’t kill my ravaged and exhausted body, I’d have killed the
fool who channeling Jane Fonda to my already hormonal self.
And if Jessica doesn’t lose her baby weight? I’m still a fan. She’s a new momma! Cut her some slack. And then cut her another piece of that coffee
cake from the supermarket for breakfast.
Because the truth of the matter is this:
Real mommas don’t have time to eat much else.
