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I'm Kendra, and I'm here to help you be a genius about the things that matter and lazy about the things that don't. Welcome to your people.

Why It Sucks to Be Blake Lively

Why It Sucks to Be Blake Lively

She's famous and rich. She's married to Ryan Reynolds. She has an adorable daughter named James which - I hate to say - is quite cool. She's so absurdly beautiful it's stupid. Yawn, Blake Lively. Get a life that's interesting

(My tongue is very much in my cheek.)

Blake is pregnant again which, if I'm being totally honest, initially elicited this response:

The more babies she has, the more her perfect Hollywood body will deteriorate and maybe look like mine, i.e. lumpy and weird. I said I was being honest; I didn't say I was proud of it.

How does my reality stack up next to Blake's? For example, yesterday as I was nursing Annie, my six year-old pointed at my exposed stomach and said, "What's that?"
"That's my belly button."
"No, THAT. That brown thing."
"My BELLY BUTTON."
"No, Mom, THAT..." I didn't hear anything else because I set myself on fire.

Can Blake Lively pull the skin on her stomach a solid three inches into the air? Does Blake Lively wear maternity pants at her kid's first birthday party? Can Blake Lively actually find her belly button? I want so much for her to be lumpy and weird with a brown excuse of a navel like me. 

But then I realized something as I saw her most recent pregnancy photo from just this week.

Blake doesn't have the luxury to be like me. She lives in a town and works in an industry where she can't be lumpy. I mean, she could, but then she'd essentially lose her job. The way she looks now in this photo? If I look like that as my end game, I'm rejoicing. But Blake can't stop at three-months-pregnant Blake. She has to be bikini-wearing-with-no-visible-signs-of-motherhood Blake.

I used to say things like, "Well, she's got the advantage because she can afford a chef and a trainer and a nanny and look like a million bucks five minutes after giving birth!" And that's true. But oh my gosh, y'all, what a bummer

Can you imagine having your job depend on the way you look to such a degree that you have to hire professionals to help you decide what to eat for lunch? I barely listen to my alarm in the morning; I don't know why I want some trainer hyped up on Red Bull and expectations yelling at me before the sun comes up. And all of this so I can have my flat stomach on a magazine.

I used to think the celebrity life was ideal because of all the help you can hire to look great. Now I see that it's a tough price to pay that you have to hire the help in the first place.

It's not Blake's fault that her beauty is Hollywood currency, and when I change my perspective a little, I'm glad for her that she has the support and resources to not go crazy under expectations she can't possibly meet on her own. But that's not a glamorous life.

So a word to you regular people and you regular moms with belly buttons you haven't seen in years: maybe it's time we stop lamenting our lack of a Get Your Body Back Squad and rejoice in the fact that we don't have to.

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