I put on weight like Santa Claus. I just get this belly that kind of extends out.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
I have a little bit of a belly, a tiny bit of pooch. It's the one thing I don't want to lose. I just like having some softness. If I lose that, then Tom might leave me.
I tell myself that after four children my belly is already so stretched and flabby that I have to do origami to get my pants buttoned. One more pregnancy and I'd be doomed to elastic waists for the rest of my life.
A bellyful is a bellyful.
I've got little ankles and a bit of a belly, so it makes me look rather an egg on legs.
I wish I could view the belly that oozes over the top of my pants as a badge of maternal honor. I do try. I make sure that the women whose looks I admire all have sufficient fat reserves to survive a famine, and I make a lot of snide comments about the skeletal likes of Lara Flynn Boyle and Paris Hilton.
I remember my mom saying that after you have a baby you get really thin. So you gain all that weight and then you just lose it and keep losing it.
You can do something as simple as drinking two cups of water before a meal to fill your belly a bit so that you don't overeat, or change up your cheese from dairy to nondairy.
When I was 21 years old, I had a job playing Santa Claus in a shopping centre in Sacramento. I was rail thin, so it's not like I was a traditional Santa Claus even then. I had a square stomach; that was the shape of the sofa cushion that I had stuffed into my pants.
And whatever my weight, I've always been skinny from the waist up.
People have always challenged me. People told me I was going to get this big beer belly when I got done playing. But I work out six days a week, and when I turn 40, I'm going to still have that six pack.