(To put this into context, for anyone reading this: it was one of those really grey, overcast days but was so incredibly humid. You know, those days where your hair sticks to your neck and clothes, especially jeans or leggings, feel horrible on your legs. I’d decided that I was going to put on a pair of shorts, to keep me cool whilst I took Ben out for a walk to hunt for painted rocks. Two girls were sitting on a bench in a shelter. Benjamin and I stopped by it, to watch a big ship in the sea. The girls were discussing the size of my legs and the fact that I have cellulite not too quietly).
You won’t read this. You’re only sixteen or seventeen at tops, you have no reason to be reading a ‘mummy blog’. You probably don’t even remember me, but I was the woman wearing shorts that you sniggered at on the prom the other day. You know, the one with the chunky thighs and cellulite. Yep. That’s me.
I wasn’t going to write this. I don’t want you to think that you got to me, because genuinely, you didn’t. I really don’t give a shit about what two little girls think of me – but I might have. I wanted to tell you how much you could have hurt someone, how much you could have affected someone, in the hope that you might think again before giggling not too quietly.
You see, it was one of the first times in about ten years that I had put on a pair of shorts. I hadn’t worn them for so long because I was worried about what people would say, that people would laugh at me because I’m fat. I had next to no self-confidence and tended to hide in leggings and long tops, venturing occasionally into maxi dresses which covered everything in the summer. About six months ago, I realised that although I want to – and need to – lose weight for health reasons, I couldn’t really give a shit about what anyone else thinks. I bought the damn shorts, and have worn them. Even now, after hearing what you said, I’ll still continue to wear them because my self-confidence is at a high, and a few bitchy comments aren’t going to bother me.
It could have been so different though. I might not have been so confident. I could have run (well, not, because y’know, fat!) home, took them off and covered my chunky thighs up with leggings. I could have looked in front of the mirror and cried. You could have chipped away any confidence that I had. The next person you decide to snigger at – well, you could destroy them.
I wouldn’t laugh too soon either girls. When I was your age, I was slim. I was a tiny size 10, with lovely long slim legs, no cellulite and a flat tummy. Then I met the love of my life, and had the best time with him and my friends, drinking all the beer, eating all the late night kebabs. Along came children – three in fact, in less than four years. I can’t use them as an excuse anymore, but I’m a mum. I work full time, building up a small business from scratch. Sometimes, things slide, and for me, it was my weight. It might not be the same for you, but come back to me in fifteen years time, and let’s see if you still have the perfect figure.
Don’t think you’re being original and telling me something I don’t know either. Us fat bitches generally know we’re fat. We see our jelly bellies, our wobbly thighs and huge arses in the mirror every day. People are quick enough to tell us we’re fat. We know it. Believe me, we know it.
What you don’t know, however, is what amazing things my fat body has done. Did you see that beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed boy standing next to me, screeching with excitement over a big ship? Probably not – you were too busy criticising the way I looked. Anyway – I grew him. My fat tummy kept him and his two equally beautiful big brothers safe for 9 months. My not so perky boobs fed a child for two years. My chunky legs take those three boys on walks, to school, up and down the stairs to tuck them into bed. My wobbly arms give them cuddles when they need them. My hands and fingers type away on the laptop, earning money to support my family. My body, whilst not looking perfect, IS perfect.
So, when the sun next decides to show itself, I’ll put those shorts on. I’ll put them on and take my boys for a walk, not giving a shiny shite about what you, or anyone else, thinks.