Oh, The Humanity!

I took my girls to the pool to go swimming last week. That, my friends, is a very loaded statement. Lurking within those 38 innocent little letters you'll find such thorny challenges as unflattering swimsuits, pre-teen hormonal power struggles, and the endless quest to convince everyone that we're something we're not. Just think - all that on a Thursday afternoon!

I have a love/hate relationship with swimming. It's one of the few 'exercises' that I truly enjoy. I love the feeling of being weightless and the muffled silence that washes over me when I'm floating on my back. I love the fact that I can be just as competent and capable in the pool as a skinny little fitness trainer, and that my children are impressed with my aquatic prowess. I love the smell. I love the sounds. I even love the biting taste of Chlorine. What I don't love, however, is the uniform.

I admit it - I hate going out in a swimsuit. My body and I, surprisingly, get along well. It's done a lot for me - more than I deserve, actually, especially in light of how I sometimes treat it. When we're at home together, watching TV and eating popcorn, I get along famously with my body. We're happy together working outside, relaxing on a lazy Saturday afternoon, and even dressing up and going out for a nice dinner.  However, despite how much it deserves my respect and admiration, I still have a hard time taking it out and showing it off.

Usually, I find myself in the locker room of the pool staring in the mirror at glaringly white legs, save for the scattered bruises and stubborn hairs that refused to relent to the onslaught of the razor. My suit (like most of the rest of my clothing) was purchased several years ago at a Goodwill store. It is a marvel of engineering, and contains more spandex than most whole aerobics classes. However, even with all of its wrapping and cupping and contouring, I still take the long walk to the water's edge painfully aware of the incongruity between how I look and how I am "supposed to" look.

Funny thing, that - "supposed to". As I helped my children into their swimming gear, I noted with a wince how quickly they were growing up. My oldest is getting leggy - not quite graceful and full-grown yet, but her awkwardness has its own sense of purpose, and therefore sense of beauty as well. The same is true for my six-year-old, who possesses the sturdy and utilitarian frame that goes along with the constant growth and activity of children her age. And, my baby! She is still young enough to have the delightful rounded belly and dimpled knees of toddlerhood, though they are now coupled with slender legs and graceful fingers. As she finishes her transition from baby to child, she appears to be all spare parts and mismatched pieces, but the overall effect is glorious. It is all with all of them, really.

As I hurriedly walked the few yards from the locker room to the pool (never running, mind you!) with my face down and eyes averted, I almost ran smack-dab into another middle-aged mom with the same posture. In our passing glance we shared a story as old as time itself. There we were - enormously blessed with healthy children and the time and energy to be able to spend with them, and all we could think about was our own perceived failings. But - and here's the key - our floppy arms and stretch marks are every bit as indicative of the wonder and power of our bodies at this stage of our lives as the characteristics I marveled at in my children are at their stages of life.

I took the opportunity during the rest of our pool visit to glance around. (Furtively, of course, with the adage, "stare not lest ye be stared at" in the forefront of my mind.) What I found was not rolls and wrinkles, sags and cellulite. Instead, I discovered humanity - those distinct qualities that mark our very humanness . We are all incredibly and wonderfully flawed, and that is what unites us - from the chubbiest newborn baby to the frailest senior citizen. There isn't a single body in the world just like mine. It had its own separate destiny and need to be unique from the very first second it was created, and still tells my story in its every curve and nuance.

I wouldn't wish away a single moment of any of my pregnancies, despite the battle scars they left me with. I may regret, for the sake of my waistline, that I indulged in a shared dessert last time my husband I went out on a date, but I'm glad I did it nonetheless. Does this mean I will trade my downcast, shamed shuffle for a swinging strut next time I'm at the pool? Probably not. But, perhaps I'll take the step of at least looking up when I walk from the locker room to the water's edge in order to see, acknowledge, and appreciate the humanity showcased in each and every shape and size of body around me. Who knows - someday I might even come to do the same for my own.

(Painting entitled 'Hesitant Swimmers' by Shanti Marie.)