CELEBRATING BATWINGS

I'm talking those flabby flaps that develop on women's arms as they hit middle age, not the leathery appendages of flying mice. Until this morning I felt pretty negative about them. Lots of yuccckk factor. I haven't worn anything sleeveless in over twenty years!

I used to have really nice arms, firm and shapely. So I started thinking back to when that was. It was when my kids were little enough to need picking up. That period of my life lasted about ten years spread over three children. So I started imagining I was talking to a grade 11 class of girls about body image in one's later years; about how easy it is to criticize looking older and to buy into the youthful image that western women seem to want to retain forever. In doing so I've reversed my attitude toward my own growing decrepitude. Here's how.

I started remembering. The six to eight feedings a day, the naps, the "uppy uppy Mommy"s, the into the car and out agains, the too tired to walk any mores, the cuddles, the book readings, the rockings. Such happy precious memories.

From now on when I look in a mirror I will no longer see those old bat wings. I will be remembering love and the babes these arms embraced. Along with my stretch marks and soft belly, they are the badge of being a mother. How can I not celebrate that?