Waisted youth

Why did I not appreciate it? A few years ago I was all flat tummied, wide hipped, hour-glassed figured.

There is a photo of me aged about 15, totally with a figure to die for. But I hated being a girl then and hid away under polo shirts and boys jeans.

I remember every night lying on my tummy in the bath and enjoying the feel of cold enamel on my hip bones. I really have to push now to get my hip bones to touch.

I look at my tummy every time I pull my pants up after going to the loo (v large mirror in front of me) and wonder where it all went wrong?

I remember stripping in front of a potential boyfriend a few months after giving birth, hurriedly explaining "I've just had a baby" in case he judged the less than perfect appearance. Of course, by that point, any man is usually too excited to be about to do the deed to notice a love handle or two.

I know I could do something about my diminishing figure and in fact, I need to do something, as the closer you get to 40 apparently the harder it gets. Losing weight that is - not the figure.

And then. And then. Standing in front of my man, naked but my collar, eyes cast down, his wide smooth hands touching my flesh. I've never felt sexier. I've never felt more desired and adored.

Dressed as a slut, skirt pushed up to my waist, bottom on display in a club. I've never felt sexier. I've never felt so wanted.

It's a hard furrow to plough. To be happy as a female. To be happy in clothes, out of clothes, in conversation and in an embrace. To not worry that as he traces my side with a sharp knife he isn't thinking 'oooh, that's a bump I didn't expect to be there' or 'I wish she'd have more of a waist so I could put my hands around and bend her over'

Be happy in your skin they say. And for the most part I am - actually that's not true. When I'm with him, naked, alert and aroused, I'm happy as I have ever been. But the mundanity of real life - that's when it hits home. I had a wasted youth and now I'm paying for it.