My Perfect Body

In this great age of “Nip & Tuck” I now realize that I have the perfect body. Even after four children, three of which were delivered via c-section, I still have the perfect body. As a black woman, on the brink of celebrating my 41st birthday, I must admit that I, too, have thought about going under the knife in hopes of regaining my pre-baby figure which I never got a chance to fully grow into and appreciate.

Shortly after my fourth child was born, I started my research to track down a body sculptor. I went so far as to make an appointment for a free consultation and thinking back now, I’m wondering did I really sit in an office and view photos of before and after shots? Did I really sit there and act like the damn near $10,000 price tag for my new, fluffy boobs and almost stretch-mark free belly was within my budget? Yep, I sure did. I can remember when I told people about my plans everyone had nothing but words of warning. Well, eight years later as I heard the reports of one of hip-hop’s rawest talents, Kanya West, grieving the untimely death of his mother due to complications after having a breast reduction and tummy tuck, I fully realize that I have the perfect body.

My measurements are 34-26-38. Yeah, my boobs are a little, well a lot, on the saggy side. And yes, my belly looks sort of like a deflated, bouncy balloon, minus the rubber band on the end. But hey, it’s nothing that Victoria’s Secret can’t hide. I mean, no one knows my body’s imperfections besides me, my kids and my mate (well now you). And none of us seem to have a problem with what’s been left over time. My nine year old plays with my belly as if it were a brand new toy. And my mate appears to overlook my road map of a tummy as his hands roam over the rugged terrain. And to the rest of the world, I look flawless in my less-than-designer clothes as I stroll confidently as if I’m a runway model. I really must be getting delusional in my older years because I’m seriously thinking about doing a calendar celebrating my perfect body. What you think about that? Moral of this story: Enjoy the skin you’re in if new skin requires you go under the knife.