Your Mom Has Big Thighs

I don’t know about you, but I can count on car rides to be the setting for some rather interesting conversations between my kids and I. “Mom, what’s cancer?” “Mom, why do old people wear diapers?” Heaven help me. The topics are endless. They range from deep to embarrassing to confounding. They also seem to come out of left field and even if we’re driving five minutes down the road, I need to be prepared for anything mentally.

                This week’s car ride was no different, but took a…ahem…personal turn. “Mom, when you were helping in my class yesterday, my friend said you had big thighs.” For the sake of transparency, I’ll keep it real here. My very first thought was something to the effect of, “That little kindergarten s@%&”. No, I’m not proud of it. But since I couldn’t say anything nice, I did a phenomenal job of not saying anything at all. After a few seconds of deep-breathing, my other child prodded, “Mom? Does that hurt your feelings?” I took a couple more moments to compose myself and emitted a genuine laugh. “No, buddy, it doesn’t. It’s OK.”

                To my astonishment, I really WAS OK. Why? Hadn’t I just been burned by someone who couldn’t even read? Who was this child, still relatively new to life on Earth, to body-shame ME?!? I had all kinds of reasons, at my disposal, to be hurt and angry over the remarks of a child. But friends, homegirl’s not wrong. If anything, her words were pretty darn true. Having the vantage-point of someone who only reaches my waist in height, she saw things clearly. I DO have big thighs. It is a fact and it’s OK for me to talk about.

                I joined my first swim team in fourth grade. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a swimmer in all their Speedoed-glory, but there’s a serious lack of thigh-gaps in that particular crowd. Strong, trunk-like thighs are what propel you through the water. I swam on and off for years, but once those big thighs took hold, they were here to stay. Some years I was in better shape than others. My thighs ranged from muscular to flabby, depending on how I was caring for myself. But thanks to genetics, my great fondness for cheese and knack for squats, my big thighs have been a constant.

                Would I rather have the slim thighs that allow for the non-stretchy leather pants at Banana Republic? Of course. Do I wish my thighs weren’t part of the consideration for every bathing suit I’ve owned for the past twenty years? Um, duh. But I’ve got news. These thighs are CAPABLE. I come with extra packaging, which allows me to do great things. Like what, you ask? Oh, let’s see, I pushed some very large-headed babies out of my body with my big thighs. I mean, end scene, am I right? That right there should be enough. In fact, my mother-in-law tells the story of how she and my mom had a bet going in the hospital waiting room over what time my son would be born. My mother-in-law gave it a guess and my mom shot her down. "Nope. She'll deliver before that. Ashley is strong." And she was absolutely right. That kid beat my mother-in-law's time because I used those monster-thighs to push him out in time for a cheap (delicious) Chinese-food dinner. There are times I think back to those words. "Ashley is strong" They are life-giving, affirmative words.

               Those same big-headed children have seen me squat some serious weight in our little makeshift basement gym. My daughter knows what a strong mom looks like and is keenly aware it's cool to be strong. I have been right there with my husband, doing the heavy lifting during more than a few moves. He doesn’t have to wonder where he can scrounge up some buddies to come over and give him a hand. His teammate is built to keep up with him. While completely exhausting on one hand, there’s a sense of solidarity in hauling an overstuffed chair up the stairs together. I'm in this with him. And just for pride’s sake, I’ll tell you that I kill it at the gym. (The actual gym, not the one underneath our house.) I can cardio for days and outlast the thigh-gaps.

                Look, I don’t say these things in an effort to make myself feel better or so you won’t feel sorry for me. The more I thought about my “big thighs” as I drove, the more I realized they don’t make me who I am, but they certainly tell some of my story. Scars, imperfections, body parts too big or small…this is just real-freaking-life, friends. Children will be children. They will call attention to what they see. Adults, for the most part, might be thinking it, but won’t say it. (But let’s take a moment for those adults who are basically children and say it. Bless. Their. Hearts.) In these situations, I propose it is our job as the receiver to handle what we hear with grace and appreciation for our bodies. We can continue to make the push to end body-shaming. It's a fantastic goal, truly. But as long as there are mouths without filters, however innocent or not, there will be the potential to hear unkind comments about ourselves. Do yourself a favor. Perform a Body Inventory and list all the ways those imperfections speak to your story and your strength.It's a new perspective, folks. There's no shame in admiring what our bodies can do. Be proud of yourself!  Don’t wait until a thoughtless comment takes you down. You have the right to feel good about yourself today. Big thighs and all.