Perhaps not surprisingly, I had never heard the phrase "mummy makeover" until after I had children. Six years after my first was born, I, like many of my friends, have wrapped up my childbearing years. I stopped at two, deciding I'd hit my kid limit in terms of both physical and emotional damage done (I hate being pregnant, and my body does, too); many of my friends went on to a third and even a fourth baby. And all those pregnancies, births, sleepless nights, and years of having little to no time to prioritize ourselves took their toll.
These days, with their kids in school and a few minutes to actually analyse what they're seeing in the mirror, mum friends all around me are opting to undergo mummy makeovers, essentially one or more cosmetic surgeries (usually including breast augmentation, liposuction, and tummy tucks) designed to help them get back their prebaby bodies.
And, listen, I get it. I have seen friends gain an incredible amount of self-esteem and happiness after going under the knife. If I could snap my fingers and magically have the boobs and abs I had before two pregnancies and two years of breastfeeding left me, as my son would say, "so squishy," I would be thrilled. I'm just not sure I want to pay thousands of dollars and undergo elective surgery to get there, and this is coming from a person who asked my parents for liposuction as a high school graduation gift (my request was, unsurprisingly, denied).
Twenty years later, with two C-sections and a ton of life experience under my belt, I'm not as confident that changing the shape of my body would really give me any peace of mind; plus, I'm extremely aware of how hard any surgery can be on the body. Choosing to have a procedure that puts my health at risk, even a little bit, seems somewhat selfish when I have two small children relying on me. Plus there's the whole "how would I tell my daughter to love her body just as it is after she saw me surgically enhance my own?" argument. That one's hard to escape.
It's not that I'll ever love my squishy belly or sad breasts (and sad really is the best descriptor I can come up with for them). It's just that the alternative requires some mental hurdles I don't think I'll ever cross over. However, I understand that, for others, those hurdles just don't exist, and I — a woman who has no problem admitting to getting Botox quarterly — do not judge them in the least.
You do you, mama, and if a filled-out pair of boobs or a flatter belly is going to make you a better person and therefore a better mother, then by all means, schedule that surgery. I'll even watch your kids for an afternoon while you recover. But, no, I won't be needing the name of your doctor.
So what do you think? Would you have a mummy makeover if you could? And what would be your biggest reason for deciding for or against one? Let us know in the comments ahead.