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Morning Revelations, Vol. 2

Confidence is a rare. I know this. Loving a zaftig body is even rarer, given the whole thin-is-Holy mantra embedded in women's minds. 

It takes a confident woman to accept hips that aren't in the 30s, a bust that spilleth over, and a waist that fills hands. This is my body. And I love it. Firm thighs. Long legs. Defined ankles that wear anklets quite well. Toned back. I love it all. I love my feminine stomach; my full breasts; my comforting hips.

I love my body.

I love the way I look in a pair of jeans and stilettos. I love how my hips catch my waist and squeezes it inward. I love the smooth, silken flesh of my mons pubis (no tan lines). I love the two dimples on either side of the small of my back.

I love my body.

I love the way He can hold me and feel woman. I love that He knows that my hips would comfort his progeny, if need be.

I love my body.

This perfume of confidence did not come easily. In high school, I wore frumpy sweat shirts, grandma jeans (the kind that starts right under your breasts) and flat shoes. Highlights were something you stored in your backpack for underlining important text. Waxing was something the moon did. I truly believed that curves were meant to be hidden, camouflaged. Hips were to be swathed in dark, loose fabrics; breasts smothered by cushiony sweat shirts. Bikini? An island!

During college, I discovered that my curves were meant to be celebrated. And celebrate I did. Gone were the frumpy sweaters and shirts -- they were replaced by form fitting blouses. I chucked the baggy jeans for stylish capris, boot-cut jeans, and flattering skirts. Those horrible flats were discarded for a pair of Stuart Weitzmans, my first designer pair of shoes. My dense black hair was offered a rich caramel base with honey highlights, which it happily accepted. The mirror finally smiled back at me, reflecting back an image of beauty, of me.

When I see size 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 women fretting about the extra grape they ate at lunch, I pity them. They have yet to discover the secret, the truth, the point. The love.

I have. And I wear it every day, flaunting it, loaning it out indirectly.

I love my body. I love it so.
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