When I was a tween (before tween was even a thing), probably without meaning to, my mom gave me permission to feel at home in my own body.* As I remember it, we were bathing suit clad and laying out in the back yard. I should mention here that I look pretty much just like my mom. I'm not sure if I was complaining, or maybe just remarking, about my burgeoning pear body-shape, but the part that remains clear is that my mom said, "I think your dad is just glad that I have curves somewhere" and "husbands tend to like their wives' bodies." Even though I was about twelve, it made sense to me that somebody somewhere would not care that my chest was pretty flat and that they might even be into my booty and thighs.
* A body is just a body. Thank you Mom!
