In My Own Skin
At some point, like the rest of us, I learned to be ashamed of my body. I am not sure exactly when it happened to me, but I know it happens to most women, and I know it happens much, much sooner than it should. I can remember being a little girl running around naked without caring, making mud pies and playing with blocks. I didn't think about the size of my butt. I didn't think about how much I weighed or about any of my imperfections. I didn't look at my sister and compare her form to mine. We just played together. How free. How nice that would be. How comfortable to just be in your own skin that way.
I don't want it to happen to Lena or even to Eli, but I'm sure it will. And it probably will happen too soon. Until then, I can at least be conscious of and enjoy their comfort now, their utter disregard for clothes, their failure to recognize flaws as anything less than beautiful, their complete ignorance of what one is "supposed" to look like.
Sounds comfy, doesn't it?
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(This entry is in response to this week's Mama Says Om theme: comfort.)
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