Learning to Love My Butt

My butt and I have had a love-hate relationship for years. For about 20 years. Ever since I was about 15 I have been aware of my butt. Even at a size 6, my butt didn't look like other size 6 butts. It was wider. It was flatter. It wasn't cute or perky.

Part of the problem has always been by long torso and short legs. They have been locked in an evil conspiracy with my butt. A conspiracy to make my butt look bigger and flatter through an optical illusion.

So...the love-hate thing. I hate my butt and my butt loves to torment me.

This week on our relaxing beach holiday to my husband's beautiful home town in northern Michigan, something amazing happened.

I started to appreciate my butt.

Now, this is no small task. No small task because my butt is no small butt. In the last 6 years (and I say 6 because I know the pre-wedding fanaticism with which I was focused on maintaining a size 6) my butt has gained in prominence.

Two kids, 20 pounds, and three (gulp) pants sizes later, my butt is a force to be reckoned with. Up until now, the only upside was the increase in my breast size that occurred simultaneously with the extra weight. As Rosie O'Donnell's character in Beautiful Girls notes "...big *ss, big t*ts...small *ss, small t*ts. God's fair."

So now, I've got a little more T&A but what I don't have is more love for my butt.

No love, but I do have a new appreciation.

Why?

Well, this week of bathing suits and beach time I realized something. Ava (my four-year-old) has my butt. The same butt that I can't stand on me, that makes me want to spend 100 straight hours on the elliptical machine, looks adorable on her.

I want her to learn to appreciate her butt and I don't want her to ever think she is anything but perfect just the way she is.