The Road to Bangability

I used to feel I would be ugly forever.

That may have had something to do with my brother Stretch always telling me that I was the geekiest loser out in the world as he sat on my chest and threatened to gob a loogey in my eye.

Big brother always had a certain charm about him.


Thank heavens we grew up and moved away from one another. There are only so many times I could dump a jug of grape KoolAid over his head after he picked on me before he either killed me or my parents tossed us both to the curb.

As a grown up, I finally am comfortable with my crooked nose, my weak chin and my pointy ears.

I think the difference is not so much in how I look, but in how I feel about myself. Well, that and my brother no longer sits on me while telling me what twerp I am as I try to avoid the dangling spit above my face.

I missed out on my sexy twenties. Popping out Fric when I was just shy of 21 and then her brother 13 months later, I never had the chance to strut my young and nubile new body for the world. I was too busy potty training and washing off the crayon murals they had so thoughtfully coloured on their walls for me.

It wasn't until I hit the big 3-0 that I had a chance to really discover who I was. As both a mom, a wife and a woman. I never really thought I would like who I was so imagine being slapped up the side of the head with a brick when I realized I not only liked who I had become, but I appreciated how I looked.

Well, how I looked with clothes on anyways. The pasty white reflection from my spreading thighs still sort of blinds me which I suppose is a good thing when you're riddled with stretch marks and you have to jack up your boobs with fishing line tied on your nipple rings to your ears.

(The real reason I got the boob jewellery...makes it real easy to pretend I'm still perky. Heh.)

So when my good lady friend Julie asked me when I thought I was my most bangable I didn't have to think long and hard to answer that question.

It certainly wasn't in my late teens or early twenties. I wasn't comfortable in my new grown up body to even appreciate what little nature had bestowed on me. If it wasn't for the hormones and raging all consuming lust I had for Boo, I doubt I'd have ever gotten naked unless it was to shower.

Behold the sex drive of hormonal adults in the first stages of love. My back still hurts from thinking of all the um, exercise we had as we tried out our adult parts with one another.

While Boo and I could barely keep our clothes on for ten minutes when ever we were together back then, I certainly didn't feel sexy. Horny, yes, sexy no.

Fast forward a few years into my mid to late twenties and I was starting to feel better about myself. I had learned a new appreciation for my body after I watched it expand to the point of bursting with over 100 pounds of baby weight. After months of not being able to see my toes or not being able to fit behind the wheel of my van, I was thrilled to be back to a normal weight.

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Thanks honey, for preserving this lovely moment in time. So thoughtful of you. I know, I'm radiant with the beauty of imminent childbirth. Jackass.

I mean, for four months I outweighed my husband by over forty pounds. SEXXXY.

But it wasn't until I had reached the big 3-0 that I finally started to feel womanly. Like I wasn't some awkward teen playing dressup and pretending to be a grown up.

There have been some missteps to my quest to find my sexy self. Some involve bad hair cuts, some a dumbass purchase of decidedly unflattering mom jeans and maybe a few bad costumes for the a themed birthday party here or there.

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Nothing like sporting a dead cat on your head that keeps twisting sideways. Totally hawt.

Of course, there are moments when I'm decidedly unbangable. Moments when I'm knee high in the manure of raising small children. Moments when my mommy hat is on so tight it threatens to choke out the very existence of my inner Tanis.

Somehow though, those moments don't happen very often. I don't know if it's from my inept maternal instincts which are about as keen as a blind man's ability to drive straight on the freeway or if it's due to all the boob grabbing my husband does when he's home that reminds me I'm more than just a mom.

I'm a wife legally obligated to put out now and then to earn my keep.

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Who says moms aren't sexy? Just look at that hat? Come on! Totally bangable.


Still, with every hurdle I've jumped, from child birth to burial; from lusty couch sex to the old 'hurry up and finish already' married sex, I'm starting to feel more myself. More comfortable in the skin I'm in.

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Note to self: Don't wear a strapless dress and then jump up and down on the dance floor. NOT hot.

I no longer feel the need to slap on the war paint or spend hours primping at the mirror while fussing with my hair to feel good about myself. I don't need to shimmy into a push up bra or tight jeans to feel hot.

Although, as everything slowly expands or loses elasticity, it sure can help. I'm confident, not delusional.

It is just the more time I spend getting to know myself and surrounding myself with people who love me and support me, the better I feel about who I am and how I look.

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What? Come on, kiss me.

Of course, it helps that my brother is no longer following around taunting me about my knobby knees and bad hair. Now I have my children to do that for him.


It took a long time, a few children, a loving husband and the responsibility of real life, but I finally grew up, grew out and into my skin.

I'm definitely more bangable now.

If only I wasn't too exhausted to enjoy it and my husband wasn't 400 miles away every damn night.

Double damn.

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All grown up. And liking it.