Post-Baby Body Blues: Do I Need a "Mommy Job"?

Do I Need a "Mommy Job"?

By Meagan Francis

When I was younger, I was unabashedly judgmental of people who got "work done", i.e. plastic surgery. I thought the whole idea was shallow and vain and a dangerous waste of money.

This is easy to think when everything is still, more or less, where it is supposed to be.

But after five pregnancies resulting in rather large babies (Clara was my most petite baby at 8 pounds, 6 ounces; Owen tipped the scales at 10 pounds, 2 ounces), things aren't looking quite as, errr, pulled-together as they once did.



Of course I'm only 5 weeks or so postpartum, but things never got back to "normal" after any of my other kids either. And once in a while, I find myself fantasizing about a magical procedure that would turn my body back ten years or so.

I'm not the only one. The internet was abuzz when a 2007 article in the New York Times documented the rise of the "mommy job", a procedure that surgeons package together in order to help women rid their bodies of the evidence that they'd ever been pregnant at all: a tummy tuck, some lipo, a breast lift, perhaps implants, all for the low-low-low price of just $10,000 to $30,000!

And while bloggers publicly decried the trend as anti-feminist and possibly even dangerous, privately more than one mother confided to me that if money were no object, she'd seriously consider springing for the whole package.

Twenty or thirty years ago, I'm guessing plenty of moms looked at their pregnancy-induced sags and lumps and gave a sad little sigh. Only in those days, you just went on with your life: cosmetic surgery wasn't for regular people, but for celebrities, the very rich, and porn stars.

These days, plastic surgery no longer seems so outside of the mainstream. Magazines and reality shows make getting "work done" seem just a routine part of beauty care, like getting your hair trimmed. Celebrity gossip rags and blogs have a field day with new moms who don't immediately pop back into shape.

The truth is, even if I had a perfect 20-year-old's body, I wouldn't wear bikinis or belly shirts. I look fine in clothes, and feel pretty good about myself overall. And my husband is happy with me just the way I am; if we came across a windfall, I know he'd rather spend it on a big-screen TV than a perky-boobed wife.

But to be very honest, I'm still conflicted. I hate this unrealistic quest for the perfect body. But I still want one. On one level, cosmetic surgery disgusts me. But I secretly fantasize about having it done.

Cosmetic surgery is a personal choice, but it's a social choice, too. If seven out of ten mothers start getting tummy tucks, it'll be that much harder for the other three to accept their own bodies as they are. I try to remind myself of that when I'm disgusted with my "pooch" and considering having it hacked off.

I'm actually grateful that the decision is, at least for now, out of my hands. Not only am I way too wimpy to actually go under a scalpel, but there's the little fact that I can't afford a cosmetic procedure. If I do ever happen to have extra tens of thousands of dollars lying around, I can't imagine using it to give myself a hot bod instead of putting it into my kids' college accounts.

As it is, I'll do the best I can to accept my own imperfections, and try to opt out of the kind of celebrity worship that I believe has caused this kind of trend in the first place. And if I ever happen to find an extra $30,000, I'll deposit it right into a long-term investment before I ever have the chance to see some surgeon's before and after shots.

But first, I'm buying myself a fabulous purse.

It may not be quite as satisfying as a perfectly flat stomach, but on the other hand, a lot more people will see it.