Yeah, I Could Be A Showgirl

I just got back from spending a few days in Vegas with the family. It was part business trip, part vacation. My folks met up with us there, and it was great for the kiddos to see their grandparents for a few days.

There came a time during this trip when my mental image of myself had the rude awakening of being synced with the actual, outer image of myself.

See, I've got two kids now. And if you have read this blog you know that I do not have a nanny or anyone to "take over" the kids for me to say, hit the gym or "do" an afternoon at the spa. I'm cool with that. I've lost all my pregnancy weight, and on most days I feel pretty damned good about myself.

But I have to remember that I am not 18 anymore. I no longer play sports--although I would vote to have "Rushing To Throw All the Toys Back In Their Bins So I Can Actually See the Floor Before the Kids Wake Up and Take Them Out Again" added to the Mom Olympiad. I may have lost the weight, but I am not toned. Neither have I been nipped, tucked, vacuumed, stapled or lasered. Things are in different places, and a good bra goes a long way.

So walking around those casinos, it is easy to delude oneself into believing Huh. Those cocktail waitresses aren't so pretty. I could TOTALLY get awesome tips working here. Yeah, guys would dig me.

And then you go back to your hotel room and put your swimsuit on to the sound of pounding little hands on the door and the screams of Hurry up, Mom!! We gotta go to the pool! and catch a glance in the mirror.

Yeah, I could get tips in a casino, all right. Who needs hot, levitating tits on a 21 year-old when you could have a haggard thirty-something with nursed-out nipples and strech marks on her strech marks?

Yeah, I could be a showgirl. In a casino in hell.