Big Job

In which I share musings about my body and, though fully clothed, am left feeling rather naked.

This morning, my son, who is seven, refused to wear shorts because he did not want to expose the hair on his legs to his classmates.

He cried because he knew he was going to be hot. It is 81 degrees here in New York and he really doesn’t like to be sweaty.

He screamed because, as he sees it, he is covered in hair and no one else is.¹ Obviously, he would rather sweat than deal with the possible exposure of this abnormality.

Hearing this from my gorgeous little man, made me ponder all the experiences I’ve stopped myself from taking part in because of the unease I have with my own body.

I stopped going to day camp when I realized that it would require me to be in a bathing suit in front of other kids everyday.

I never played sports because the uniforms were too revealing. Volleyball = short shorts. Basketball = sleeveless tanks. Don’t even get me started on gymnastics.

I was very good at giving other reasons; to offer the real reason would be to admit that I was fat and thereby give into my…