One day, I walked into the bathroom of my parents to take a bottle of shampoo as mine had run out.
Snatching the shampoo bottle a little too big for my size, I saw on the countertop beside a flower vase my mom’s wedding photo. She was wearing a white dress that had too much lace for my taste, but fit her tightly just about the curves.
She looked like one of those fashion icons I’d see on TV, in my personal opinion.
Then, fast forwarding a few years, she had me.
On the places where her curves used to be, now there are victorious stretch marks and a wound where an incision was made, that was from bearing my brother.
There is a salient flabby midriff that once used to be concave instead of convex.
And I cannot help feeling an unknown sense of guilt and responsibility, but mixed with pride.
For some mysterious but powerful reason, the places where the curves were that are now no more, look as, if not more, beautiful to me than ever.
In response to daily prompt Curve