Making Memories

Strawberries.  Blueberries.  Watermelon.  If she doesn't have one in her hand or in her mouth, there are the juice traces around her lips.

A Sumner

She also loves the part of my body that I am most insecure about.  Her little fingers nestle there and she looks up and says, I love your arms.   She knows not to touch a stranger there, and it's not inappropriate for our niece-aunt relationship.  I don't want to push her away.   And I don't want to explain why I wish she would ignore my excess of flesh there.

She uses words like soft.  I use words like fat.

For the last couple of days I've been with my nephews and niece.  Playing games.  Chilling out.  Swimming.

The later involves me in a swimsuit.  A modest one, but even the most modest are not so flattering on me.  While we were swimming, a sudden wave of insecurities came upon me.  I had the desire to jump out of the pool and put my cover-up dress back on.

These kids... when they are grown up - no matter what I wear, or where their sweet little hands hold on to me... they will acknowledge that I am on the plump side.

But, I hope that that is just a foot note to my biography.  I hope that they remember snuggling up to read with me.  Or our crazy pool basketball games.  I hope they remember the security of my love, that they feel that I enjoyed spending time with them.  And I hope they feel cherished in my big fat arms.