The public pool.
I’ve heard that spending just a few minutes looking into a fashion magazine can significantly lower a woman’s self image.
Bright colored bikinis. That perfect shade of hot-pink-almost-peach that makes her look perfectly tan.
In person.
Seeing the kiddie pool section.
Screams of joy, splashes, sunscreen, the sounds of tiny pool shoes flip flopping on hot concrete.
Here they are.
Women, mothers, in perfect roundness and fullness.
Maternity swim suits showcasing the newest little people who are swimming within.
I was here.
I was here, remembering that the last time I wore a bikini, I looked good. Real good.
My breasts were full of milk, I felt motherly, I felt, sexy.
I was here, remembering that the time before last, my belly was full, too.
I was in a different swimsuit then. You know, one of those maternity ones.
The ones that cost a fortune and you wonder why in the world they do.
The ones that you hope your friend will pass down to you because she indulged to get a super cute one.
I was here, this time, wearing a different suit than before.
One that I didn’t feel very good in.
Feeling flat.
Feeling small.
Crying into the water, wondering how many here would even guess I’m wondering these things.
Pushing the water, gently, with my hands.
It felt good, the water between my fingers.
Pushing again, stretching my arms out around me.
Walking deeper still, bobbing on toes now.
Twirling, swirling.
Feeling lighter.
Dancing in the waters,
Sharing these waters with life.
Doing a handstand, slapping the bottom of the pool with my flat hand, determining right then and there –
My love for my child goes this deep, and deeper still.
I will share this love.
I will dance in the waters with life.
Each baby swimming with me, may you be blessed.
May you swim with joy.
Each flat mother at the public pool this season,
May you dance with me,
May you swim with life.
