Normally these posts just fly off my tongue, but this week I struggled with the delivery of my message and the personal nature of its content. People who know me are acquainted with my candour and undefended honesty, and whether it be my strength or my weakness, I’m generally not afraid to embarrass myself in the process. Rather than trip over my words or regret saying them altogether, I want to be the girl who loves as if she has never been hurt, sings as if no one is listening, and dances as if no one is watching. Today I am going to write as if no one is reading. For the purpose of this blog, I said I would share ‘the good, the bad and the ugly’… I must have forgotten to mention ‘the sexy’.
I mentioned last week that I felt this butterfly may be ready to fly. And if you remember correctly, deep in my reasoning for wanting the tummy tuck surgery, was my quest to unleash the woman who I felt was trapped beneath the saggy, stretched out FLAP of post-natal skin. Did I think that it had any bearing on the type of wife, mother, friend, etc. that I am? Nope. This was selfishly and shamelessly done just for me, stripped from all of my titles, just Lacey – the woman. The woman who you are when you peel back all of the layers of titles and descriptions, and you are just you. Woman is the only title I have that can, literally, never be taken from me, yet it is the one that probably gets the least attention. Ironically, being a confident and sexy woman, is one of my very favourite roles. So let’s give props to her.
If this were a screen production, right about now the ticker message would scroll across the bottom of your screen: “The messages and opinions reflected in this film are those of the actor/directors, and not of the… blah blah blah.” While each of us may have a different definition of what it means to be a wife/mother/friend, I embrace the idea that we may also have different definitions of woman. This is mine.
I am ecstatic to be a woman. I love every single thing that there is to love about being soft, feminine and sexy. I believe in great skin care, most of my underwear is pink with hearts and/or lace, and I thank the Lord every morning in my shower for soaps and shampoos that smell pretty. Of course, a kind heart and happy smile are also traits a good woman should own, but I consider those too uni-sexed. And what’s better than being a soft, pretty woman? Being a sexual one.
Prior to having children, I would say that I had a curvy, athletic body. Thirteen years as a competitive gymnast gave me wide calves, thick thighs, and meaty upper arms. I carried a little extra weight around, but it settled nicely to give me a curvaceous womanly figure. My breasts are not-too-big-not-too-small and my hips are wider than a twelve-year olds. Despite being twenty pounds over weight, I felt like a sultry and seductive woman. Post-babies, the hips are bigger, the boobs sag lower, and, of course, the tummy became the FLAP (recall that FLAP was my equivalent of anti-sexy or anti-seductive.) Despite that, I have never forgotten what it felt like to know that I was a sexy little bitch and could turn a man’s head if I wanted.
Chalk this up to being really honest, or throw it in the “TMI” column, but I have fantastic sleep-sex. My husband calls me ‘the sleep fu**er’. Most woman probably bat their men away because our sleep is such a precious, lovely thing, but nine out of the ten times my husband crosses the centre of the bed, I’m panting and moaning while the rest of the world is sleeping soundly. Not your typical Tuesday night sex, my middle of the night romps bring out a ravenous, sensual and pleasure-seeking kind of girl. The next morning, hubby and I will gloat and marvel over how freaking hot it was but both can rarely remember how it started. Why is this relevant? Because in that deeply relaxed state of consciousness, I’d forget that I had a FLAP. Stripped of everything except woman, I’d be in my most raw and primal frame of mind, and THAT girl is a tomcat. I simply adore her. I missed her terribly while she was gone.
Since my tummy tuck, although I am still a little sore, still extremely swollen, and not permitted to engage in sexual relations (Ooops! I cheated already), I can feel that girl inside me. I can feel her all the time now. I feel the blankets rub my inner thighs while I sleep and my womanhood tingles. I feel water trickling all over my body in the shower and she’s there again. When I look in the mirror at my clothed or undressed reflection, she beams at me. Are my thighs still thick and meaty? Yup. Do I wish my boobs were where they were before I breastfed? True dat! But none of that matters, for whatever reason, I don’t care. My shape has returned. And with it, my vixen.
An inhibited caterpillar curled up and braced herself for a transition three weeks ago. And a beautiful butterfly is emerging. I make no apologies for her blatant sexuality or her love of all things girly. My only hope now, is that hubby can keep up with me.