I used to be you

Dear Beach Girls~

Please forgive me for staring. I know I looked like a total weirdo. In fact, you may have whispered that I was being pervy. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... but it's like this...

I used to be you.

I used to wear that same bikini. I used to have that same ripply rapunzel hair that flowed down my back and fell temptingly over one shoulder, covering up just one of my firm and upstanding "girls". I used to wear those cool sunglasses and that same shiny lip gloss. I too used to sit on a blanket and help my friends apply tanning oil in such a way as to make the guys blush and stammer and shift around uncomfortably. I too traded knowing looks with my friends and laughed and tossed my head when this happened. I used to be you. I used to have that same golden skin. The same divots above the teensy glimpse of crack showing from the top of my binini bottom. I had the same flat smooth expanse of belly with the tiny perfect oval navel that begged a peircing. I had the smooth slender feet with dainty polished shells as toenails. My hands used to be perfectly manicured and elegant as I waved them around and talked about who said what to whom and when and where and why it happened. I too drank milkshakes and ate french fries and ran shrieking down the grass being chased by boy-men in too big shorts and messy hair. I used to be YOU.

Now I am me.

Now I lay on my beach towl in my skirted one peice suit. My hair is in a serviceable pony tail so you won't notice that it didn't actually get shampooed today. My "girls" are supported by lycra and lined 'shelf support' in my black, thick strapped, tankini top. My cleavage is soft and deep and actually has the beginnings of a wrinkle or two amongst the freckles that now dot the area between my girls. My sunglasses are prescription, and were made from the old frames of a pair of regular glasses... not cool, but cost effective. My lipgloss is VitaminE oil and Abreva, because the sun always brings on a cold sore. My tanning oil has evolved into BabyBlock SPF 50. My golden skin is either white, or sunburned red. Sometimes both at once depending upon whether I applied the sunblock or my children did it. I have no divots anymore...sadly, the divots are well padded with hips that held growing babies, hips that bump shut cabinet doors when my hands are full, and hips that make the lap where toddlers sit. My oval navel is disguised now into a cavern where I hide secret tears that my babies and toddlers have cried, burying their faces into my belly. No peircings to gouge their sweet faces. My slender smooth feet are rough and chapped from wading into shallow pools to guide tiny bodies to safety, from running barefoot across hot pavement to rescue windblown artwork from starfish hands, from walking through just bleached bathroom floors to save Polly Pocket from swirling down the drain. My manicured hands are polished with Joy detergent and Pledge polish. I sip my diet coke and munch carrot sticks and leftover goldfish crackers as well as the end peices of granola bars. I run shrieking down the grass chasing children who have grabbed my cell phone, my PDA, and my Consumer Digest~ children posing as boy-men with messy hair and girl-women with tiny bikini's that cover still flat chest and baby fat rounded bellies. I am me, but I remember being you.

I am not jealous. I stare at you, not with envy... but with joy. Joy at your youth and your energy and you life essence. Joy at seeing my own daughter becoming you, my own son the blushing stammering messy haired boy-man. I stare with love and hope and truly honorable wishes that your life is good and safe. That said, go put on some clothes and leave those poor boys alone.

love, Me