Crisscross applesauce. A bin is full of barbies and their accessories. A large barbie dollhouse. I put each in, creating a story. Usually containing a husband and a baby.
These stories in my mind, what made a happy family. A mom taking care of everything, happy, skinny, pretty, perfect. A dad, young, handsome, hardworking, kind, strong, loving. A little baby that connected them both.
Now, many many years later as my body paralyzed and my mind went unconscious, a story came up showing those barbies. It was a group of us, each of us commenting on the body and beauty of these dolls. Barbie-like dolls. In that dream state, what came out of these mouths around me, and my own was “wow, feel how small their thighs are”.
Crisscross applesauce, the little girl doesn’t fear the legs that bend and run. Then I grew up. If only they were smaller. My thighs. The size of them, the non defined muscles, the curves, and cellulite. The stretch marks. Nothing like those barbies.
An unconscious dream. A dream that came over the little girl, and me now. Dreaming in sleep, and dreaming while awake. About what life would look like, the big house I’d live in, the perfect job, and the white picket fence. And the husband who always did everything right. The scene played out, over, and over, and over.
The same scene another little girl is orchestrating right now. How sweet our minds are, the innocence that has not yet met the reality of the world.
And what will she grow up to become? Perhaps she will love herself. And perhaps not.
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