A children’s guide to nip, tuck

I’ve had this story from Newsweek open in my browser since it first came across my Bloglines on Tuesday, unsure of how to approach it. I have serious body image problems and while intellectually I reject the idea that women must erase imperfections and signs of aging to be considered attractive, on an emotional level I know that if I could afford it I’d be waiting in line for liposuction and a tummy tuck. So I’m really the last person to write objectively on the issue.

However, despite my personal conflict on the issue, I was quite disturbed to read about a new picture book for children called “My Beautiful Mommy,” in which a child’s mother has rhinoplasty, breast augmentation, and a tummy tuck. The illustration of Mommy is a cartoon of a Barbie doll-like figure in skinny pants and a belly shirt, and that’s the before image. Written by a plastic surgeon, Dr. Michael Salzhauer, the story says that surgery will make Mommy “even prettier,” making it clear that near perfection isn’t near enough. No one is so pretty that she can’t be improved upon with a scalpel. That’s a dangerous lesson to pass on to a child, male or female, at an age when they’re still developing their sense of self and beginning to compare themselves to others around them.

Dr. Salzhauer says he wrote the book to explain the surgery to the children of women who brought their offspring along to their consultations and appointments, a situation I find alarming. If you can afford cosmetic surgery, can’t you afford a babysitter? Involving a child in any medical decision has the potential to be traumatic. In the case of cancer or other life-changing illness participation may be necessary; for a boob job, not so much.

But I was most concerned by the interview with Gabriela Acosta, recounted in the article. She tells of how her son commented that her stomach looked “pruney” because of sagging skin left over from her pregnancy. First off, what’s she doing showing her abdomen to a son in third grade? Post kindergarten I’m a believer in modesty as the best course, so I really hope this was a passing observation at the beach. But in light of the rest of the interview, somehow, I don’t think so.

The reassuring tale helped win Acosta over—she scheduled breast augmentation and a tummy tuck. Since February, when she had the surgery, she and Junior have read the book a half dozen times, and she says it helped him feel excited rather than scared. “I didn’t want him to think [the surgery] was because I was hurting. It was to make me feel good,” she says.

That message seems to have gotten through. Instead of being uncomfortable about the surgery, Acosta says her son actually spoke up about it at a big party. “Did you see her new belly button? It’s so pretty!” he said of his mom. “I think he was proud,” she says.

Having your nine-year-old son so invested in what your body looks like that he points out your “pretty bellybutton” to people? There’s something wrong with that level of ownership. Also, they’ve continued to read this book after the surgery, and he feels “excited” about the changes to her body, and proud of them. Warning bells are going off here. Maybe it’s just me, but this has “creepy” written all over it. Whatever happened to boundaries?

If it’s not inappropriate ownership, it hints to me of something equally unsettling. In my experience, kids are most gushing about things they are the most ambivalent about. They attempt to reassure themselves by convincing others that everything is ok — better than ok. That’s a heavy burden to place on a child, to comfort themselves by comforting you.

Children should not be supporting cast in their parents’ personal dramas. If you feel the need for validation on your choice to surgically alter your body, by all means talk to your friends, your partner, or an anonymous support group online. But leave the kids out of it. Keep your explanation, if you need to make one, short and sweet, and don’t rehash it for months afterward. They don’t need to know all about your body issues.

It’s their place to be children, not confidants. You’re the grownup. Act like one.

Jill at Writes Like She Talks covers some interesting territory about the book being self-published by a vanity press and asks how he managed to get it reviewed by Newsweek. Good question.