Coming Up For Air...

I get up every morning at the mercy of my internal clock and the light streaming in through my shade-less windows. I’ve finally reached the age, where this won’t keep me in bed all day and I start to toss and stretch around seven thirty. When I was younger, I had my mum make me special curtains that didn’t allow any light in, giving my room a cave-like interior. Now I’ve gotten rid of curtains altogether, happy to feel sun on my face. I sleep on my stomach with my arms curled up under my chest. My shoulders ache when I wake up. I work them out in the day, and they support my upper body all night.
Mother says I’m bony, as she hugs me and rubs my shoulder blades. The chubby condition of my younger years has found its way to my stomach, hips, and thighs which has given me the form of a woman. Upper body is breasts and ribcage, scars and freckles. I’ve got tiny fingers and a long neck. My stomach is circular and on good days, compact, soft, cradled by wide hips that can support it and the weight of offspring. My legs are short, thick and strong, muscular and padded. I can feel all my muscles, vibrating softly this morning, dull and slow in their actions. I find myself, knees to my chest, rocking to the gurgling of my stomach. And there is still no sun, the rain interrupts tiny rivers on the road, as winter robins scurry around for any bug or worm that may have found its way to the surface. Coming up for air…