Review: I become a Yummy Mummy (somewhat)

Many, many apologies for this being so late (could I get any closer to Midnight on my post day?). Freak is ill, and juggling Tavy one-handed for even a few hours makes me want to bow down and worship the goddesses who go it alone day after day. They truly are the Yummy Mummies.

When Mother Talk emailed about reviewing The Yummy Mummy Manifesto: Baby, Beauty and Bliss, I was practically jumping up and down. After all, I became a Mummy after possibly the worst dye job in the history of Clariol. (Patented Wavybrains labor inducer: Streak your hair at home. Use the cheapest kit you can find. The more garish the results, the faster you'll be pushing.). And it took me . . . um . . . SEVEN MONTHS to correct it. 

I ambitiously bought new dye at 6 weeks post-partum, but any spare hour and half I had thereafter seemed to be allotted to needs higher than hair--namely sleep (and internet surfing). My sleep-addled brain decided that yummy baby + adoring mama = all the yummy mummy you could possibly need.

When I saw our St. Louis Photos, I wanted to cry, because I was so far from a Yummy Mummy that if I saw me in a Supermarket, I'd walk right by, eyes adverted less my tackiness be contagious. So, I was hoping Yummy Mummy would give me an excuse to reclaim whatever style I once had. I hoped it would have all sorts of magic tips to make me look a little bit less like my High School self had herself a baby and then celebrated at the Dairy Mart, and little bit more like the Professor Mama I'd like to be.

On that front, Mission Accomplished. I got a flattering haircut (but note that the Yummy Mummy is adamant about no bobs. Oh well. One of many points on which we diverge). I finally made time to go and get new, Smart girl glasses. I've been trying to wear more colors near my face (great tip) and using the long flowing tails of my wraps and ring slings to look colorfully, elegantly, eccentric. I got a few pairs of earrings instead of hiding under the excuse that I had none that match.

She asks, "How do you remember your mother, and how do you wish to be remembered?" This is the kind of kick I needed. I'm more than the milk factory, more than the baby transporting device, more than the jungle gym. I am what she will define motherhood by, and the book's message on that front is very powerful. When she declares, "Deep down, there is something subversively, rebelliously, naturally yummy in us all . . . A pagan priestess unleashed in Suburbia," I want believe her. I want to be that woman.

And in my head, I can be. But, in reality . . . not so much. I've always wanted to be bold enough to be Auntie Mame, but instead I just go through life as poor Agnes Gooch. Maybe when I'm 80, I'll finally get something of a personal style other than "perpetually lazy with a hint of social anxiety accented by terminal awkwardness." To be honest, I'm kind of a lost cause for Johnson, and I knew this a few pages in. Even with my "makeover," I'm just one baby sling away from being the "Mommy Clothes" frump she reviles. Knowing this, I found the book to be a bit like suddenly landing at the cool girls table because everyone else called in sick--you know you don't belong, and while excited, you feel hopelessly inadequate in the face of that much lip gloss and hair spray. I agreed with so much of what she had to say, but that feeling of inadequacy made me feel like a lurker and not an audience member.

And despite her "We're all Yummy!" cheerleading, she's got strong biases. Don't look at her photo if you have ever worn above a size 10 or if you gained more than 30 pounds during (or after!) pregnancy. I'm begging you, don't. Because then, when she goes on and on about her "eggplant" shaped body and the horrors of being F-A-T, you'll have to kill her. Or yourself. Or both. And that would be waste, because she's created a very Yummy book, and she's got lots of great things to say. Just not to me.

The anti-fat bias seeps into more and more as the book progresses and spills over into other judgments that counter her great, natural mothering viewpoint. The book is incredibly lushious, with vivid colors, and great drawings and illustrations. It took me a while to reconcile my desire to love the book with occasional urge to hurl it across the room. Then, I was talking with my impossibly stylish friend, who's dealing with new motherhood and needing a bit of nurturing, and it hit me--the book really ISN'T for me. I belong over at the geeky girls table where everyone's reading Anne Rice novels and eating chocolate pretzels.

But, my friend, and others like her--they NEED this book. In fact, I knew this book would be exactly what my friend needed, and I made her go order a copy right away. This book for mothers who HAD style to begin with. Duh! It's not about creating style where none previously existed. If, like me, you'd rather arrived naked than wear high heels to anything that doesn't have a (large) paycheck riding on it, and you'd rather sleep an extra 15.7 minutes than blow dry your hair, this probably isn't your book.

But, if you WERE the "it" girl pre-mommyhood, this is the book you need, and this should be at the top of everyone else's list for shower gifts. In fact, a gift of this book pre-baby would serve three great purposes: 1) compliment the mama-to-be on her great sense of style, 2) reassure her that it's not going away, and 3) offer her great, down-to-earth, attachment parenting advice. I'm not sure that anyone else is serving that niche. There's plenty of books on how to spend your way through pregnancy and beyond and look skinny doing it, and there's plenty of books on how to be the crunchiest mom on the block, but there's really nothing else I've seen that tells you how to be BOTH.

It's a rather subversive little book in that way--perhaps we can seduce more Manolo wearing, bugaboo pushing, style mavens over to the dark side of attachment parenting. And, once I realized that I wasn't the target audience, I was able to enjoy this book again, albeit from my role as an observer. She DOES have a very engaging voice, and she covers a wealth of topics, and her advice to own your identity as a mother while reserving a part of yourself just for you applies to all of us. Even the hopelessly style challenged ones.

We CAN all be Yummy, but not all of us get to look good doing it. Sigh.

Comments

[Jenn (dish)]

"I found the book to be a bit like suddenly landing at the cool girls table because everyone else called in sick--you know you don't belong, and while excited, you feel hopelessly inadequate in the face of that much lip gloss and hair spray."

Holy crud, girl- get out of my head. I know that feeling exactly. And I was so glad to see you write it because when I saw that you were reviewing I immediately thought, "crap, she'll never want to stay friends if she finds out I'm geeky. Quick- hide!". :-)

But you're right- we are all yummy- just in our own ways.

[a fan]

LOOK at that happy baby! Does she love HER yummy mommy or what? You both look like an ad for Best matched mom and daughter of the year. Baby and mommy smile big!