My Dear Body,

Today, as the days merge and dwindle in Quarantine, I stand before the mirror, ogling.  No expression. Just a head tilt and quizzical lips.  Simply contemplating you. Tomorrow, is Memorial Day.  Our summer kick off. And as I gander, our eyes drop slowly to the hand holding our nemesis. Our torture device. Our Death Star. Our… swim suit.

This crept up on us. I have no idea how this is gonna go.

You and I never seem to be on the same page and our battles over the past 38 years have been epic. All you can do is point out my every weakness. Cheese, chocolate, chips, Harry Potter and Grey’s Anatomy Marathons. You relish in my struggles and defeats. Our eyes drop knowingly at our feet, for all I ever do is replay your failures.

And they are vast.

Our eyes rise to the ankle you sprained before Junior Olympic tryouts. Rise. The hips you always had to make rounder, earlier than my friends.  Rise. The stomach you unhealthfully forced to gain over 100 pounds while pregnant with Wheels because tater tots and eggs were so good and stayed down. Pause. You fooled my rationale and just as unhealthfully forced us to lose 125. Rise.  You ballooned my breasts with so much milk I hated breastfeeding. And just as begrudgingly sucked them into oblivion like a black hole, which still compresses their womanhood.

Rise. Meeting each other in fixed focus.   You failed in delivering my twin girls.

We disconnect. Close. Tight.

God, you take years to heal. Our back. Our shoulder. Our ACL. Our hamstring. Our endometriosis.

You mock me. You warp me.

Can’t you ever just chillax? Stay the same?  Be consistent?  You always have to… change.  Constantly! I can’t keep up with your whims.

Opening, we hold our cruel cold stare. Testing. Willing one to break. Vicious we can be together.

Bringing your hands in front, facing our heart, right on top, left under. Together we inhale to offer peace. Exhale to become one.  Inhale to bridge our gaps. Exhale to fill the arid deserts of pain with joy in how far we have come. Rock forward, inhale. Rock back, exhale.  Just a couple breaths, and we soften.

Improvement.

With dallying brows, we drop our suit on to the floor, step into those tiny holes and begin the packaging process.

The pink grazes our poor, ugly feet. Runners feet, and an small Umbridge titter escapes. Passes over the scar on our shin from when I got drunk in college and you walked into a pole. Good times. Slides above the knee and tenderly caresses our thighs and grips outside our quads. Funny isn’t it? The ease. The beauty of the lower leg. But those damn hips.

Teeth gritting we grab the sides of that suit with white knuckles and PULL! Our legs flail out. PULL! Push back in. PULL! Not to be defeated we gyrate, body roll, Tootsie Roll, Butterfly, Twerk and for God’s sake PULL!

IT’S UP! ITS’s UP! Oh, thank you, thank you.

Every year its the same.  Out of breath after the hips! Smoothing the fabric up, it covers our powerful belly and allows our determined arms to slip through. Those two in perfect combination have held, created, and changed so many lives. As I tighten our straps and adjust the fit it hits me.

Far too often I judge you in parts. Belly. Legs. Hips. Glutes. Chest. Arms. Back. But it is their combination, their ability to join forces, strengthen each other and produce that I should cherish.  It’s your total physicality, that provides me a calm acceptance.

I check you out in the mirror.  Not bad! You are not perfect, but perfect isn’t for us. Life changes too much for perfection and I want to taste every change our life brings.  Together.

Now get your ass out in that pool and show those boys they still can’t beat their mom.

Much Love,

Brain