The Cat Walk Waddle

I walk. 2 miles 5 times a week. Today while I was walking my jam, my tune, my beat came on. Immediately following the first few notes my head perked up, my posture was a little better, and I most definitely felt my typical waddle turn into something more like hips swinging.

It was an out-of-decade experience. I was back in the Miss Salem pageant. It was the swim suit portion of the competition and I was rocking a flowered number with a fresh spray tan. 

I was in the middle of cat walking the parking lot when I looked down and realized: I can't even see my feet without kicking them out in front of me, I'm closer to what husband weighs than I am to my pageant body, and if I start swinging my hips too hard I might fall over. (My center of gravity has shifted these days and sometimes I forget that.)

I never went so far as to day dream of completely changing sociatal norms and competing with a belly, don't worry. But the fast and hard hit back to reality wasn't discouraging, and it didn't stop my swinging hips. 

For everything we're told about how our bodies should look, I felt proud of mine even though it doesn't fit the mold. You probably won't find me in a body-judging competition ever again. How would they rank my stretch marks?! But you want to know something? I'm proud of every last one of them! My feet swelling twice their size doesn't really freak me out either. So I can't wear my wedding ring right now, and my ankles aren't really definable. I still feel proud of this body. 

This body that is so unique and so powerful. This body that is able to create something that might have my eyes, and husband's nose. This body is creating something with the ability to think and reason for itself. 

I'm as much of a sucker for a good fake tan as the next girl, but really?! What my body is doing now rocks the pants off Miss Salem or maybe even Miss Universe. So don't think for a minute that I stopped cat walking until the very last note of my tune.