Bellona's Belly

What makes an otherwise mostly normal woman get her navel pierced? Particularly when she's reached an age, for me it was 47, where she's beyond wearing midriff-baring tops. Why? I can only answer for myself. When I was in my twenties, I had a fabulous looking tummy. Flat. Firm. Not an ounce of flab peeped out over the waistband of my jeans. Then I had two babies, which involved gaining over 45 lbs each time, ballooning my previously 26 inch waist to over 40 inches. Both of my sons were born ceasarian, leaving me with a ridge of scar tissue at my bikini line. Even when I got back down to an acceptable, comfortable weight range my tummy never was quite the same again. And let's face it, there was no way I was motivated enough to do the ab crunches or sit-ups to regain a semblance of my earlier abdominal glory. I pouted a little. And mourned the loss of a physical attribute I didn't quite appreciate enough when I had it. Then I would look at my two handsome, bright and wonderful sons. And I'd think, what a tiny price to pay. In order to truly accept my now less-than-perfect belly, it was obvious what needed to be done. Decorate it! Poke a hole in that navel and dangle something bright and shiny on it! So I did. And today, after four and a half years of living as a belly-pierced woman, that reign came to an end. To my great surprise, the ring fell out this morning. I was at work, concentrating on putting retest stickers in numerical order, and plink!, there it was, my cute little 22k white gold ring on the counter in front of me. I self-consciously raised my shirt and peeked at my navel. Nothing dramatic, no blood or riven flesh, just a little pink area where the piercing used to be. I expect in a few days my navel will appear pretty much as it did before. I feel less exotic. Sigh.