It’s no secret. I have the worst body image of anyone I know. If I could bath in a pair of spanks and a cross your heart bra I would. Better yet, a full scuba suit would do. If I had one. But I don’t, so I sit in the bath with three face cloths. One for each boob and one for my who-whoo.
Without giving away too many family secrets, let’s just say I’m the only one with this issue. Where I’m the never-nude Mark and Emma are the always-nudes. They’re the ‘J**** H C*****’ can you put some clothes on it’s minus 20 outside’ nudes.
Trying to find a balance between loving and loathing their bodies isn’t easy. I don’t want Emma (or Ben) developing my body dysmorphia but I also don’t want them to feel clothes are more of a luxury than a necessity and of course I don’t want them developing frost bite in their nether regions.
I want them to know how to appreciate their bodies and take care of them. After all, a healthy body is a healthy mind and vice versa. A positive self image means one less thing to worry about later on in life.
So this morning’s bath time episode has left me feeling a little befuddled. And violated. Emma and I were having a soak. Me on one side of the tub and she the other. We were chatting about all things aquatic like where mermaids shop and how they find shoes for their tails. We wondered where fish fingers ACTUALLY come from and where fish hide their nuggets. We discussed the merits of Dory’s short term memory and whether Nemo’s mom actually died or if he was merely the product of a broken home.
And then I saw Emma looking distracted. She got up and scooched closer to me. Or rather my boob. She said she wanted to touch it. I said no it’s mine. She said please I just wanna touch. Again I said no, it’s mine. The look on her face was nothing but curious. Like if you were to see a unicorn or seven legged dog. She poked and prodded. And tugged and pulled. She folded and shaped. In short, she origami’d my boob.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do or how I was supposed to react. Like I said I don’t want her to think she needs to be ashamed of her body (or mine) but I also don’t want her to think that making paper planes out of boobs or peni’ is acceptable.
And so as I sit here, 10 hours later, with my boob still unfolding, I’m pondering the talk that needs to be had. Any suggestions will do!