body image

If I was lucky, I would find an outfit that properly hid my figure such that I looked pretty OK. It was always my body that failed the test, never the clothing. That day, I realized that pregnancy had changed something fundamental for me: I loved how I looked. I loved my bump, I loved what it signified, and I loved how people treated me.

Matt talks about how to deal with being stared at. 

“Wow, what happened?” (as eyes glance at my stomach area)
What do you mean, “What happened?” When asked this, I sometimes wonder if little aliens are flying around my waist or if blood is spewing from my hips.

My swimsuit phobia started in middle school — that breeding ground of body shame and fear. One minute I’m a kid excitedly putting on my pink two-piece and running into the ocean, the next, I’m avoiding any place where people are known to live in their swimsuits and I might be forced to wear one.

I don’t remember when I started holding in my stomach. [...] It’s hard to trace a habit so ingrained that I don’t know it exists. Until I’m lying on a table and her hand rests at my solar plexus and she tells me to let go. I can’t. I don’t know how, or not yet.

I am a perimenopausal woman in her 40s who still feels like a 23-year-old at heart. I cannot stop the progression of time and its effects on my physical appearance, regardless of how youthful my spirit may be.

The Internet has told us that instead of selling our wild summer children to a band of traveling performers, we should go swimming with them instead. At a beach or at the pool, your choice. The Internet also told us that us moms should get over our silly body issues and just play! Have fun!

A surge of adrenaline hits me. I want to snap a selfie. A semi-nude selfie.