Written by Emily
Last week Maria Kang’s abs had their 15 minutes of fame or infamy depending on which mom you ask. Twitter and Facebook were abuzz with reactions to a photo of Kang’s rockin’ bod surrounded by her three young children with a caption that read, “What’s Your Excuse?”
I’m a bit late to the party on this, but let’s just call it fashionably late and while we’re at it, let’s pretend my abs look like Kang’s. Like most women who took issue with Kang, I have no problem with her granite-like mid-section or chiseled arms. I have a problem with the message: “What’s your excuse?”
Surrounded by her little ones, Kang is implying children are not an excuse for a softer physique. Grab your pearls and corsets, ladies, because we’re all headed down a very slippery slope. If we can’t use our children as an excuse, our lives have taken a turn for the worse… much worse.
Think I’m being a bit extreme? Take a look.
It’s all because of the children that I…
- Slip into the “child’s chapel” during a particularly dry sermon because one of my cherubs made a scream face.
- Sing all the words to the Sofia the First, Doc McStuffins, and Jake and the Neverland Pirates theme songs while scrubbing urine off the bathroom walls.
- Go to great lengths to rescue insects trapped inside the house because they might be characters in a Pixar movie.
- Deny myself my own ice cream cone (high-five for self discipline!). Lick my children’s ice cream cones all around the edges seven times each to prevent them from dripping all over everyone. Caloric equivalent= 1.5 cones.
- Carry an enormous diaper bag full of snacks.
- Perform a sniff test on my cuticle to determine if the yellow smear is mustard from lunch or excrement from a diaper.
- Use a child’s nap time to escape a particularly awful play date.
- Turn the back yard into an American Ninja Warrior training facility.
- Judge the quality of a vehicle by the number of cup holders and whether or not the doors open at the touch of a button.
- Walk around for an entire day with play-doh stuck to my rear end and marker on my forehead.
Daily, I rely on being able to roll my eyes, shake my head and shrug, while sighing, “kids.” Don’t take that away from me, Maria. Please.
Now, excuse me, my kids are screaming in the other room. They’re not really, but what good are they if I can’t use them to my advantage.