I’m not just a fat mommy. I’m a fat mommy in the Palisades. It doesn’t get much worse than that.
For those who aren’t familiar with the area, Pacific Palisades is a serene, lovely community on the cliffs between Santa Monica and Malibu. Perhaps it’s the close proximity to all the good hiking areas, but the moms around here are like the milk I buy – organic and fat-free.
You walk into a boutique store and you’re lucky to find a “medium.” Palisades moms juice in the morning, pop an egg for lunch, down a salad with protein for dinner. The dirty four letter word up here is “flab.” “Skinny bitch” is considered a total compliment.
Now I’m not looking for pity. A couple years ago, we left our beloved Venice for this kid-topia and I have absolutely no regrets. Never mind that I came up here kicking and screaming, donning my bright pink ski cap. I have made peace with this Land Of The Lean. I don’t even stare anymore when I see a hot mother of four in her size 0 Lululemon yoga pants. Her thin ankles don’t frighten me.
What frightens me is a whole other kind of mommy. “Teen Mom’s Farrah Abraham’s Porn Includes Stunning Backdoor Scenes” screams the headline. A pal of mine on Facebook has the whole story on his status. And all I can think is…OY. WTF has happened to us? How can you be a mother and make a sex tape? When did this become acceptable? And who has the time? Fat Mommy and Fat Daddy barely have time to grunt at each other much less do the nasty and storyboard the darned thing.
For fear of sounding prudish, I would never show my front door, back door or even side-boob to any stranger. Are you listening, Steve Hirsch? I would never punish anyone that way. I am a MOM. I only give that type of anguish to my kids. They have to withstand the sight of their fat mommy getting into the tub, getting out of the tub, squeezing into my too-small jeans w/ mamma meat hanging out the sides. It’s not a sight everyone can stomach. They’ve had years of practice. All those times I thought they had a tummy wog, nope, it was just mom squeezing into her Spanx.
But even if I had my old body back, the one I had in my early twenties when I was teaching step aerobics and making cassette tapes (yes, you heard me, cassette tapes) for my power cardio class, pounding my poor body into a sculptured submission, I would never make a sex tape. My badunkadunk was NEVER ready for its close-up. How can you teach your kids to respect their bodies if Mommy doesn’t respect hers?
Which brings me to eating dinner with my girls in the Palisades. I am sitting in one of the new swanky Italian restaurants. One of these demon moms is sitting next to me, nibbling on her salad frisee. The waiter approaches our table with an ENORMOUS hollowed out wheel of parmesan cheese which serves as the bowl for my pasta. He plops it down in front of me. Skinny Bitch looks at me with both shock and envy.
I am momentarily embarrassed and pass it off to my 4 year old daughter, pretending the massive dish is hers. “Here’s your mac and cheese!” I exclaim loudly. “EW! This is NOT mac & cheese! It has bacon in it!” my 4 year old screams, totally throwing me under the bus.
And then it hits me. What am I ashamed of? OWN. IT. I take back the dish with a newfound sense of pride. How can my girls rejoice in their bodies if I’m not at total peace with mine? There is so much to celebrate about being Fat Mommy. Fat mommies are passionate. Fat mommies are snug-able. Fat mommies are innovative. We see a woman crossing the street with a yoga mat and we think…PICNIC BLANKET!
I look over at Frisee Salad Mommy and feel profound sadness for her. She will never know the taste of aged parmesan mixed with crispy pancetta and white truffles. Who am I kidding? I am so happy right now.
And then Ben Affleck walks in. I look at him. He looks at my vat of cheese. “That looks incredible!” he says, smiling politely.
“I wouldn’t know. They brought it to the wrong table,” I lie. “She ordered it,” I say, pointing to Frisee Salad Mommy.
