The Mom Belly Monolog

While trying on a pair of jeans last week, I found myself looking for something with a bit of stretch and support in the tummy region for my constant companion, the mom belly. In the dressing room, I stared it down sadly and asked why it stayed around so long, and in fact, when exactly had it entirely moved in?

"It was around your second trimester with your firstborn." My mom belly informed with outright matter-of-fact-ness. "You started to have a thing for midnight bowls of cereal. I, myself, have always been a bit of a night owl, so I hung around a while. You have good taste."

"That was 11 years ago," I reply, stunned and thinking, has it been that long? I look down at my belly pinched between my fingers, kneading it like dough, hoping to stimulate heat within and burn the fat cells using my determination and sheer willpower. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and feel the heat travel up my spine in embarrassment over my foolish thoughts. I will go to the gym as soon as I wake up tomorrow morning. I'll set my alarm, I think, and start to cheer up as I reach for my phone.

My belly button gives me a wry smile in the mirror. "You do you!" my mom belly says in a knowing tone. "But you know you can't lose me. You have tried before and will try again, but you and I are in this for life together. I know all of your favorites, and who would you share them with if not for me?"

"I am going to do Pilates and heated yoga this time," I tell my mom belly. "I will get a personal trainer if I need, but you HAVE TO MOVE OUT!" I tell it. I feel confident and brave, standing up to this bloated bully with its dimply eyes staring sarcastically back at me. Its mouth in a little "o" in mock horror.

"I mean it!" I say and set the alarm. I get dressed in my old comfortable jeans, and pick up the cute pair a little too small and low rise for me, and decide that these will be my new goal pants. My reward for finally losing my mom belly.

I get up, and I work out every day at first. The war is on, and the jeans hang over my bedroom mirror.

"Aha!" I boast to my mom belly a week later, you have started to shrink!" As I place my hands perfectly over the stretch marks, pulling tight and admiring my future slim and sleek body. I dance and gloat, coverings its face so it cannot ruin this special moment for me.

A few weeks later, I have still been doing well with my new diet and exercise routine and making significant headway. I try on the jeans, and they are buttoning! I tell my mom belly to "EAT THAT!" and it kinda does because the button is smashed in its little-surprised mouth, makings its cheeks puff up a little over the top of the waistline.

I add running to my routine and hear that squats can also help with the core and make your belly look smaller by making your butt bigger so I decided that I can work in some squats and lunges with my laundry basket lifts I have been doing around the house. That, mixed with the "I forgot something downstairs" jogging routine I have going on, starts to make some significant progress. Some floor scrubbing planks and a week or two more of kid lifts, and mama is going to celebrate those fabulous new skinny jeans. I make plans to go out with the girls for a celebration night of no more mom belly.

"Sayonara, Sister!" I chime out loud the night of the celebration to my mom belly, laying there deflated. I pull out the final attack of the middle-class mom, The WRAP! I wrap my tummy in what appears to be saran wrap, lotion, and a toilet seat tissue and wait for the miracle's demise of my mom belly. Heat tingles under the wrap, making me think of my finger massages. I bet it was helping and that if I had just kept at breaking up the fat cells every day, I probably could have lost the mom belly even faster. I take off the wrap, and I am actually a little amazed. My stomach looks firmer than it has in years. My skin is a tighter look to it, and with such a small hint of mom belly, I decided to call it a win. I go out and celebrate my freedom from my mom belly.

When I get home, I am thrilled to have had a night out away from the kids and without the company of my mom belly for once. High on life, I toss my shoes to my shoe shelf and celebrate with a late-night bowl of cereal before crashing exhausted on the couch for the evening.

The next morning I awake with a slight headache from the late night and realize I feel a bit uncomfortable since I am still in my jeans from the night before. I look down, and "POP!" goes the button, like a Champaign cork calling to attention the actual winner's gummy waistline smile of triumph.

"Get your keys." It tells me.

And I do. My mom belly and I go and buy the high-waisted jeans with the tummy control like the long-time friends we have become, honest with one another as we check ourselves out in the mirror, agreeing that we look pretty damn good. We are much more comfortable in these anyway.