It’s no secret that society surrounds women with hypocritical messages almost 24/7.
“Stay skinny,” says one ad, while another whispers, “but don’t let anyone know you diet.”
“Be a positive role model for your daughter. Don’t let her hear you calling yourself fat,” insists one book. Meanwhile, five others blare, “You’re fat! Stop eating! Get rid of that pooch! Look ten years younger!” from the same bookshelf.
But parenting magazines? Those should be safe, shouldn’t they?
They should have nothing but supportive messages. They should be filled with tips for keeping your family healthy, your wallet full and your children smiling.
They should understand the pressure we’re all under—and do their best to help us cope.
And so, it was with no little interest that I opened the latest issue of Parents magazine to read this article:
Slow down, the article preaches. Appreciate the moment. Try not to stress so much. Stop multitasking. And above all things, remember:
That article actually made me stop and think for a moment. If I knew all I had left was this one moment, would I want to be worrying about the bills I have to pay, or the state of my carpet, or the skin tag making my arm pit unsightly?
You wouldn’t think so.
But then I turned the page to see this:
Apparently, after I learn to slow down and live in the moment, I will realize that I can’t possibly present myself to the world without beautiful armpits.
Because, you know, that’s what zen mommies do. Slave over every square inch of their bodies rather than play with their kids and appreciate the beautiful lives they’ve been blessed with.
Thanks, Parents magazine. I didn’t realize my arm pits should be such a priority.
Tomorrow, after rising before dawn (without an alarm clock) and meditating for 20 minutes, I will make sure I get the perfect pit shave before proceeding downstairs to prepare a macrobiotic breakfast for my strong, intelligent (but not beautiful, ’cause we can’t tell a girl she’s pretty) toddler.
And I will appreciate every moment I spend shaving and moisturizing my pits. Because that’s what Good Mommies do.
Awesome. I needed something else to worry about.