Legs
I've been thinking a lot about legs the past few months. In the summer, you see a lot of them all over the place. People wearing shorts and skirts and swimsuits and you just get to thinking a lot about these limbs that move us around.
I must confess that I am sort of slightly obsessed with my children's legs. I love everything about the legs of children and toddlers. They are so clumsy and so stubby, and they try so very hard. Sometime toward the beginning of the summer I put all my girls in their swimsuits and we were on our way out the door to adventure and sunshine and as I watched their six legs move past me, I looked down at my own. Their legs I love, my legs I tolerate. I felt a sense of loss that my legs were no longer as beautiful as they had been in my own childhood. I've always hated my knees, actually, but now my legs had stretch marks and cellulite and weird bumps and spots of discolored skin, like mosquito bites from summers past that never healed.
And as I continued to admire their legs and berate my own, a feeling of foolishness began to creep over me. Why was I mourning the "loss" of my legs? I had lost nothing but a sense of aesthetics, and who cares what my legs look like?
Do you wake up in the morning and think to yourself, "Well, today might have been a really good day, but I have a feeling I'll have to look at Amy's legs and that will just ruin it all."
Yeah, I didn't think so. And if you don't care what my legs look like, why should I?
My children's legs are beautiful and I rejoice in them because they enable my girls to run and jump, to explore new places and move independently through life. Don't my legs do the same for me?
Aren't these the same legs that walked me to classes on campus every day and got me a degree in education?
Aren't these the legs that walked me into the temple as Miss Amy Boling, and walked me out as Mrs. Amy Rose?
Aren't these the legs that three times have walked me into the hospital a hugely pregnant woman, and walked me out a beaming mother?
Aren't these the legs that love yoga and swimming and walking and the occasional run around the block once or twice?
Just because I'll never be a leg model doesn't mean I have to hate my legs. I can love my legs for what they do for me every day, and I can be grateful that they don't have nearly as many bruises and scrapes as my daughter's legs. That's something, right?
My knees, however, are a different story. We are still not friends. Frenemies, at best.
I must confess that I am sort of slightly obsessed with my children's legs. I love everything about the legs of children and toddlers. They are so clumsy and so stubby, and they try so very hard. Sometime toward the beginning of the summer I put all my girls in their swimsuits and we were on our way out the door to adventure and sunshine and as I watched their six legs move past me, I looked down at my own. Their legs I love, my legs I tolerate. I felt a sense of loss that my legs were no longer as beautiful as they had been in my own childhood. I've always hated my knees, actually, but now my legs had stretch marks and cellulite and weird bumps and spots of discolored skin, like mosquito bites from summers past that never healed.
And as I continued to admire their legs and berate my own, a feeling of foolishness began to creep over me. Why was I mourning the "loss" of my legs? I had lost nothing but a sense of aesthetics, and who cares what my legs look like?
Do you wake up in the morning and think to yourself, "Well, today might have been a really good day, but I have a feeling I'll have to look at Amy's legs and that will just ruin it all."
Yeah, I didn't think so. And if you don't care what my legs look like, why should I?
My children's legs are beautiful and I rejoice in them because they enable my girls to run and jump, to explore new places and move independently through life. Don't my legs do the same for me?
Aren't these the same legs that walked me to classes on campus every day and got me a degree in education?
Aren't these the legs that walked me into the temple as Miss Amy Boling, and walked me out as Mrs. Amy Rose?
Aren't these the legs that three times have walked me into the hospital a hugely pregnant woman, and walked me out a beaming mother?
Aren't these the legs that love yoga and swimming and walking and the occasional run around the block once or twice?
Just because I'll never be a leg model doesn't mean I have to hate my legs. I can love my legs for what they do for me every day, and I can be grateful that they don't have nearly as many bruises and scrapes as my daughter's legs. That's something, right?
My knees, however, are a different story. We are still not friends. Frenemies, at best.
Great perspective! And yes...you and your knees have not been on good terms for quite some time. Haha
ReplyDeleteHaha, I can attest to the fact that although I have seen them many times, your legs have never ruined my day. :) Our bodies are pretty amazing when we think about everything they do for us. Little kid legs are SOOO cute!
ReplyDeleteI've been playing soccer once or twice a week this summer and although I admire my legs for their willingness to still move me around; I confess to a bit of disappointment that they seem to be a little slow and prone to a large variety of pains.
ReplyDeleteRegarding knees, the left knee in particular seems to have a tendency to go on strike and just seems to balk at a number of things I ask of it.