We know strong abdomens are good for our backs and spines, so we do our push-ups and abdominal curls. Our rectus abdominus and obliques are strong but, oh dear, the belly’s still there. Maybe it’s telling us we should honor the mature belly.

The round, full stomach is the place from which life springs. It is our little incubator, our all-important center, our hub. As mothers we used it in the way it was intended. During pregnancy, the bigger the belly, the better. Husbands and big brothers, even perfect strangers would touch our bellies and bend over and talk to the creature inside. Then once the baby was out, we started in again complaining about our damn stomachs.

It starts early. We think it’s adorable the way little kids walk with their stomachs out for balance. We love those bellies. Then we force those jolly little tummies into designer jeans and the poor kid starts thinking, “I gotta do something about this gut.”

No matter how much we women exercise, there will always be an irreducible blip. Ask even a thin one if she dislikes anything about her body, and likely she’ll reach down to her belly, grab what she can with two hands, shake it, and say, “Ugh.”

We all come from a long line of bellies, but we harbor this need to have a midsection that looks like we don’t eat, drink, or sometimes skip the treadmill and read in bed. Our culture has decided that a fleshy belly is a serious flaw. The declaration “That woman has no stomach” is considered a compliment, even though its owner may have binged and purged to get it that way or had it pummeled, stapled, or surgically altered.

Goddess statues have marvelous bellies. Artists have always loved the full-bellied model. I say give the belly a rest. Ditch the belt, free the flesh, unzip, unhook, exhale. Pat it like you love it, for good luck. We need the balance.

from Juicy Tomatoes: Plain Truths, Dumb Lies, and Sisterly Advice about Life After 50.