I immediately took to FB, calling out to my tribe, “Who wants to see my ass?” Image: Joni Edelman.
But this is a different kind of Snapchat — it’s MomSnap. Oh there is still nudity — cleavage, butts, etc etc. It’s just shared between us moms.
The Snapchat notification pops up on my phone.
It’s Amanda. There may be boobs. Boobs are highly probable.
Immediate plot twist.
I’ve known Amanda for about four years, I guess. It seems a lot longer. We’ve talked through some deep shit: kids, sex, money, spouses. She’s incredible.
Before sitting to write this, I didn’t bother to research who created it and what their original intended purpose was, because we all know what its intended purpose was.
Making your face look like a dog…
Or a police officer?
OK I got carried away.
Snapchat: App that allows folks to send naked pictures and not have to be fearful that those naked pictures are going to pop up when said person eventually runs for Congress.
Snapchat deletes the photo after viewing. You can ask to see it once more, and they’ll let you (and tell the sender), you can see it even three times if you pay $0.99.
But then POOF it’s gone. And if your intended recipient screenshots it, Snapchat knows and tells you. BUSTED. (Allowing you the opportunity of threatening to send a picture of their hairy balls [or whatever] to the NY Times.)
But this is a different kind of Snapchat — it’s MomSnap. Oh, there's still nudity — cleavage, butts, etc etc. It’s just shared between us moms.
No partners allowed.
I read about a similar concept and I immediately took to FB, calling out to my tribe, “Who wants to see my ass?”
Well, not exactly that, but close.
Surprisingly, the answer was a lot of people.
So I said, “Hey people. I have an idea. Let’s send each other pictures. Who wants in?”
I mean, after so many years of being in a relationship the excitement of your ass has probably worn off when it comes to your partner.
Send: Picture of your cleavage.
Receive: “Yeah, those are boobs. What’s for dinner?”
That’s not how it works with my momma friends. There is a special relationship between these women. We’ve been through the things together: birth, leaky boobs, sick kids, sleepless nights, saggy tummies, feeling like a terrible parent, feeling fat, feeling ugly, feeling like shit. It’s a unique space to live in, a solidarity that our partners usually don’t understand.
And by virtue of that bond, we get each other.
I love your hair.
You’re doing good.
This is hard.
This is hard. Being a parent. Being a partner. Being at home. Being at work. Having five kids. Having one kid. Having a new body. Having to live and love in it.
This is Amanda:
Sometimes Amanda sends me pictures from her bathtub. Amanda lives in Texas, so her bath time is my dinner time here in California. Sometimes I tell her to shut the hell up about her awesome bubble bath while the rest of us are still cooking.
Most of the time I just tell her she's amazing, because she is.
I am part of a group of women I love and admire. They aren’t next door. They aren’t even in the same town. They are in Canada (both sides), Oregon, Texas, Florida, Washington, England, they are literally everywhere. And they are less-literally right in my pocket.
We are still sharing our days in all the ways we usually share days — talking about kids, bills, dinner, stress.
And now we are sharing the times we are most vulnerable, the times we need to hear something good about ourselves.
Our friendships have grown as we have exposed our insecurities to each other, and as we have discovered that our insecurities are shared by almost everyone we know — fat, thin, wrinkled, or otherwise.
We see ourselves reflected through each other’s loving, forgiving, accepting eyes and in that reflection we are learning to see beauty (and some really nice boobs).