Sexy because.

Last week, the whole fam was in Arizona for a wedding. Tucson is a really special place for me and while there, I got to be with some of the people who remind me of the good parts of myself. I was familiar with Jade’s work, and though I had never met her before, I dreamed about working together. The occasion arose, not without contention, and I grabbed it. In an introduction I told her that I was in the middle of a very overwhelming time of life and while I have cultivated a deep self-love, lately I don’t feel beautiful in my own skin. I was looking for the experience of letting myself be seen by someone who is a champion of body positivity for women. I wanted to feel alive, and be seen not just as the tired, overwhelmed mother that I have been this past year, but as the vulnerable, breakable, beautiful and determined woman that I am beneath that.

She looked in my eyes and nodded and I knew that she understood what I meant. In the beginning, she was encouraging me to let myself move freely, and coaxing out a sense of comfortability. She kept moving and talking to me, encouraging me to be sexy (my words. That’s the feeling I was getting). Then this happened, all at once:

But I can’t be sexy *and *be a mom. (disbelief)

My baby is IN MY ARMS right now, I can’t be a sexy being! (confusion)

But it’s not porno sexy she’s after. It’s something else. Mom’s can’t be sexy! (panic)

Wait a second. Who says? Who made that rule? (sound of system breaking)

And then I began to feel a shift on the inside. My aliveness and grief cohabitating, my true sexy. Sexy because I love to be the biggest, wildest version of myself. Because I’m a sexy and juicy being that grew other beings in my womb. Sexy because I can now inhabit my body courageously just because it feels good. Sexy and not afraid. Sexy and alive. I closed my eyes for a moment to revel in this present moment, and the baby tipped over and bonked his head, hard. I held his wail and flail against my naked body, shushing sweetly in his ear.

Now I’m back to the routine of daily life, but with a little secret. Today as I was whirling myself deeper into a cycle of annoyances and frustration about the little stuff, all of a sudden I just stopped. I listened for the wisdom of that juicy being within and then I turned up the music, loud. My favorite feel-like-me-again music. So loud that Little Tiger started to cry. I told him that sometimes this is what it takes for me to feel centered, to be a better mama for him. And I moved sexy. And I sang. And I cleaned the crap out of that kitchen.