Body Stories
Every Morning I get up to smiles and the Impatience of an excited toddler. Sleepy smiles from the tiny tot and grunts and snores from the being I call my husband. My two year old pulls me to the gate and moans when he can't open it. We get to the Bathroom where he moves his stool to the toilet and climbs. He waits to be stripped before climbing onto the seat. After he's gone and has flushed the chain for the thenth time he moves his stool to the sink. He spots himself in the mirror.
In this mirror, to him, is the most glorious of sites. He sees himself and his mummy. These two glorious, marvolous bodies. With no shame, no worries, just pride. His red hair and big brown eyes. His huge grin and little dimples. His little tummy and chunky thighs. wiggly fingers and tickly toes. He loves himself, he's facinated by himself. He points to a part of his body and giggles when the boy in the mirror does the same. Everyday the same routine, pointing at different body parts, giggling and babbling to this boy in the mirror. This body could do no wrong. Its perfect and he loves it.
When looking at the mirror the woman does not have the same look as the little boy. She's sad. She's pale and thin. Her body isn't such an open book as this little boys. She smiles but it holds secrets. Made of china ready to break. I look at this woman. Her hips tell stories of carrying two precious gifts, not quite to term. A scar, prominant , telling the story of a princess' entrance to the world. Her chest full, telling of difficult school years, a husbands pleasure and the most recent stories of providing for two hungry little mouths. The sunken eyes of lack of sleep. The full lips of loving, magical, healing kisses to give. The pouch she carries on her slender figure, a momento from the 9 month war of which she came out victorious. But beneath those eyes you can see she's barely holding together. Built with gum and rubber bands.
I accept my body. It's mine. The only one I'll ever have. It will age and it will wrinkle. The bags will get bigger. More battle scares will be adorned. Boobs will sag and a tyre eaten. It will constantly grow and shrink with wrinkles and strips appearing each year. I admit I will never understand my body. But it will always have an interesting story to tell.
I'm 22 . I may never have the acceptable body that society deems beautiful and attractive, but who cares? They are bland, boring, blank pages in a book. My child looks at me with eyes wide, full of wonder. My body may be broken but at least it has a story. My family love the story my body tells. we love the story my husbands story tells. And my son's and my daughter's stories are only just starting to be written.
Love yourselves. Big or small. Short or tall. Wrinkly or smooth.
Love YOUR story.
