I’m starting to understand the allure of nudist colonies.
The image of my big butt mocking me in the Target fitting room mirrors today will forever burn in my brain. Most of the time I only see myself coming, never going. There are no 360 degree set of mirrors in my house.
It was quite arresting to see myself from that angle.
Like I was in a major car wreck. Or had hail damage.
I hate trying on bathing suits and workout wear.
Spandex is only as flattering as the flesh being hidden underneath it – everything else gets pushed around in every direction, spilling out over the top, under the bottom and into the sides, creating lumps you swear never existed before. Waistbands dig into your skin, leaving mote-like divots circling your body, ring-around-the-pudgy, cutting you in two, making you look as if the magician couldn’t quite put you back together again after sawing you in half.
Mismatched body parts.
I bought nothing.
As I got ready for bed, I paused in front of the full length mirror.
I stood there in all of my glory.
No muffin top.
Just soft breasts that once fed my children, gave them sustenance for months. A round belly that stretched and ached in all directions in order to make room for their growing arms and legs. Curvy hips that carried their little bodies, sometimes one on each side. Strong thighs and legs that have played hours and hours of hide-and-go-seek, tag, and summer slip-and-slides. Long arms that have given a million hugs. Short, stubby fingers that have laced between tiny digits to walk across the street and wipe away tears. Calloused hands that have clapped and cheered in encouragement, planted gardens and baked cookies.
Being naked reveals so much.