was there in 1992 when Sir Mix-a-Lot came on the scene, and although I have very dear cheezy early 90’s memories associated with his song, it is fair to say I am not in his camp. I am not one of those people who thinks Kim Kardashian’s “assets” are worth talking about. In all honesty my bizarre inclinations are for necks and ankles. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know the answer. But that isn’t really what this post is about. If you want to know what really puts steam in a man’s stride, if you want to know what taps the primitive monkey-brain at its most instinctive level, if you want to know what triggers those subconscious hormones that make smart guys stupid (and make stupid guys more stupider), I’m here to tell you that there is nothing in the world sexier than a woman who confidently and comfortably wears her pregnancy well. You can keep your J-Lo junk in the trunk, or your Fergie lovely lady lumps. I’ve got ridiculously gorgeous woman walking around the house these days with an ever-growing baby-bump, and I feel like a teenager watching Olympic girl’s beach volleyball. RRRAWRR!!
The amazing thing to me is that you women don’t see it – at all. Countless sociologists have pointed out that when you ladies get ready to go out for the evening you really aren’t dressing for the men, you’re dressing for the other ladies. You girls are BRUTAL in how you judge each other. Even if you don’t say it out loud, you’re always sizing up the girl next to you, the way she looks in her jeans, does that top fit right, are those extensions or not, oh my gosh she’s got a tramp stamp at HER age… Then you turn that middle-ages, inquisition, death-squad, judge-panel on yourself. You never hear guys asking their wives if those jeans make their butts look big. We know we’ve got a lot more pudding around the middle. The difference is, when we go out, we know all the other guys we see that night aren’t secretly passing judgment on our beer-bellies or worse, talking about it in clipped and hushed tones with the other guys they’re hanging out with that night. As the character Amy Farrah Fowler on “Big Bang Theory” recently said, “Women have a deep, hormonally-driven need to spend a lot of time looking at thick glossy magazines that make us hate our own bodies”.
My wife is a beautiful woman with a decent self-esteem. She knows she isn’t ugly (boy is THAT the understatement of the century). She’s a rational woman who knows what superficiality is and how worthless those sorts of things are. She has a healthy perspective on what real beauty is. But she was raised in the superficiality capitol of the world (southern California), and the instinct runs very deep. She agonizes about her baby bump. It’s not that she’s trying to hide it. She’s proud of it. But whenever we’re heading out to go somewhere, or when she needs to get a new sweater or shirt or something, the #1 thing on her mind is how it makes her belly look. She’s constantly scorning the “oh-so sexy panel” on her maternity jeans. She looks in the mirror and says “I feel big”. Where she normally goes through three wardrobe changes before going out, now she goes through four or five to accommodate her changing figure. Don’t get me wrong, she loves being pregnant, and I must say she wears her pregnancy VERY well. She’s good at it (not “Duggar” good, but you get what I’m saying). She’s an educated, rational, healthy pregnant woman… and she still worries about how the pregnancy makes her look. (Let’s not point out the fact that she’s six months pregnant and her belly is still smaller than mine).
Check out the video below I made of my daughter the day before her little brother was born. At 0:23 you see my wife walk through the background in all her pregnant glory. She doesn’t glow. She RADIATES.
In those moments when she isn’t so worried, when she’s brushing her teeth at night in front of the mirror, after she wakes up in the morning and her tank top is rolled up just above her belly button, when she picks up one of the kids and the panel on her jeans is exposed for the whole world to see, I am like a kid in a candy store. She is so beautiful she makes me feel like one of the dufus science dorks in “Weird Science” when Kelly LeBrock first emerges from out of the bedroom closet. My tongue gets thick, my palms get sweaty, and my intellectual level goes from “Citizen Kane” to “American Pie” in nothing flat. There’s just something about that little guppy belly. It’s amazing. It’s miraculous.
Women of the world, I’m here to tell you: it doesn’t take a single molecule of makeup. It doesn’t take ridiculously expensive bottles of hair “product”. It doesn’t take designer jeans or the “right” hair. If you’ve got a baby-bump and you wear it well, with confidence and with pride, there is absolutely nothing in this entire universe sexier.