We took the kids to Kalahari over midwinter break. You know the kind of trip, loud, wet, chaotic, and somehow still magical.
As we were getting ready for the water park, I realized my 6 year old son’s bathing suit top didn’t fit. It was one of those moments that could have gone either way. For a split second, I felt bad. I wondered if he’d feel uncomfortable. If he’d want to cover up. If I should’ve planned better.
But before I could even say anything, he was already gone running toward the lazy river, completely shirtless, completely confident, and totally unbothered.
And honestly? His belly was so cute.
He splashed. He laughed. He ran from slide to slide like nothing in the world was wrong because to him, nothing was.
As I stood there watching him, I looked around the water park. There were bodies everywhere. Tall bodies. Short bodies. Thin bodies. Bigger bodies. Kids. Teens. Adults. Bellies, stretch marks, scars, softness, all of it, just existing together under fluorescent lights and indoor palm trees.
No one was apologizing for how they looked.
No one was explaining themselves.
Everyone was just… having fun.
It was such a good reminder for me.
Somewhere along the way, we learn to overthink bodies. We learn rules that kids don’t naturally have. What should be hidden. What should be fixed. What’s “okay” and what isn’t. And yet, when you actually step back and look around, real life doesn’t follow those rules at all.
People come in all shapes and sizes. Always have. Always will.
That moment at the water park stayed with me. Not because something went wrong, but because something went right. My son felt good in his body. He trusted it. He didn’t question whether it was acceptable.
I hope he holds onto that for as long as possible.
And I hope I do too.