Back Home Again in Indiana
There was a stat in the show prep last week that two thirds of women would rather date a guy with dad bod than a guy with a six pack. My initial thought was this makes perfect sense because the guy with the six pack comes with pressure to match it, and as long as things like lasagna exist, that’s never going to happen. My second thought was ho’d up – why the hell is dad bod celebrated when mom bod isn’t even though MOMS ARE THE ONES WHO GREW THE HUMAN IN THE FIRST PLACE.
There is only one word to describe this injustice, and that word is bullshit. So today* we right the wrong, and today, we celebrate mom bod. We toast to the stretch marks, throw confetti for the extra skin that lives here now, make a cake to honor the hips and feet that are forever wider than they started. We feed ice cream to the lingering bit of baby weight because without it, we’d be that much colder in the winter. We let the bags under our eyes smack the hell out of a pinata until there’s concealer for all (but we don’t use that concealer because this is mom bod and we’re owning it).
Today we say I see your dad bod and I raise you a mom bod. A bod that was nauseous if not full on throwing up for weeks and months on end. A bod that got heartburn from looking at a glass of water. A bod that stretched in ways we still aren’t convinced are humanly possible.
On this, the first ever National Mom Bod Day, we kick the dad bods to the curb and claim the glory that should have been ours from the beginning. Because if anyone should be praised for not having a six pack, it should be the person who had a human destroy that six pack from the inside out.
*By today, I mean every day because you grew a damn human and that ish should be celebrated all day err’ day.