Bedtime is hugging time. Well, honestly, when you're around me, anytime is hugging time. But around here, at bedtime, it's time to hug. Sometimes just once, just a little, and sometimes lots. Big ones. Many.
My sweet daughter had a particularly rough day, and needed lots.
None of her friends wanted to play.
She lost her homework.
She had a tummy ache.
When you're seven, that makes for a pretty crumby day, indeed.
At bedtime, we had our usual "girl-talk," and she asked me about hula dancing. And grass skirts. And coconut bras. We talked about girl scouting, and the origin of prunes. She lazily poked the plumpness of my upper arm, as she propped herself up on her willowy, bony little one.
We are contrast.
And then, hugging. Lots, and lots of hugging. And lots more. She rested her little head against my shoulder, and stretched her arms as far around me as she could reach. My bulk swallowed her up, my large arms folded around her like two overstuffed pillows.
And she sighed in contentment.
"Oh, my wee little baby girl," I crooned into her sweaty little head.
She pinched fat on either side of me, and squeezed. Squeezed hard, as if making a mental note of all the hills and valleys that spread themselves across my trunk. Her rotten day seemed to vanish into the folds of my flesh, and she sighed, "oh, my great big mommy."
And, I could have cried. Never have more honest, endearing, and love-filled words been spoken to me. Never have such heartfelt sentiments been expressed for my very large, very soft collection of flesh. Never have I felt so truly appreciated.
And truly, truly proud to be a great, soft, fat woman.
She doesn't care if my hips are like two fleshy shelves. She doesn't care if my arms wiggle, or my thighs rub together when I walk. Or sit. Or stand. Or...exist. She doesn't care if my grand, soft belly is painted from top to bottom with stretch marks. I am her great, big mommy. I am her soft place to fall when the world leaves her vulnerable. I am her safety net, woven with great mounds of flesh.
My own day wasn't all that sunshine-y, either. But feeling such a genuine appreciation for my person, from someone so very special to me, reminds me of what I already know, but need lots and lots of help to remember sometimes...
Fatness is not weakness. It isn't ugly. It isn't less. It isn't bad.
Fuck hip bones. I am a great big mommy.