Squishy

This afternoon I was reading A. A. Milne's poetry to Sarah Frances and Catherine. I was really having a good time, snuggled up on the couch under a blanket reading good lit to them, when Catherine got a hold of my bicep and said, "It's squishy, Mom!"

Well, I got cracked up and completely lost it. It did tickle a little--she was just squeezing a little bit with all 5 fingers--but I was laughing as much because I used to do the same thing to my mom. I distinctly remember sitting in the recliner with her, poking her flabby arm with my finger, watching its tip sink down into her flesh. And laughing. The difference is that she wasn't laughing with me.

I'm glad I can laugh with my kids at my "motherlyness." I'm not saying I don't have a good 10 pounds I could stand to lose (20 if I'm honest), but there is something to be said for looking like a mother. I'm curvy. And apparently squishy. And that also makes me cuddly and love-ly. It's comforting to crawl in my lap and snuggle. Think about it--would you rather sit on an overstuffed chair or a wooden rocker? My body has grown a full-sized baby in it four times, and I don't mind carrying some extra chub that keeps my body kid-friendly.

I'm just glad I can laugh about it.

Maybe tomorrow I'll write about why I should drop that 10 lbs (or 20) to help my body become more husband-friendly.