Getting Over Myself

A wise person once said, "People who are wrapped up in themselves, make for very small packages..."

In the past, for far too many years, I was way too wrapped up in myself. Too self-conscious and paranoid about the way I look (my size, my shape, my cellulite, my baby-tummy) to go swimming. Or get on a bike (how wide is that butt???)

I hid behind the camera, I sat by the pool with my book, I documented and observed and recorded all the fun. But I wasn't part of it.

Too self-conscious, I was in hardly any photographs. You never saw me in the family videos. I managed to avoid it by being Photo-Girl Extraordinaire.

Then one day just over a year ago a light switched on. What if something happened to me? What if I contracted a rare fatal illness or got knocked over by a bus while crossing the street...? What would my kids have to remember me by?

They wouldn't have photos of me to gaze at and weep over (sound of violins)... flickering images of me jumping with them in the waves would not be replayed again and again to remind them of all the fun times we had... no such images existed.

They would watch the family movies and ask... where was mummy?? They would look at the photos and think I wasn't even there. They wouldn't realise I had been behind the camera.

And fun memories? Crazy adventures together? Hardly. They would remember me reading and watching on the sidelines (if I was lucky). How would they know how much I loved them??

Horrors. I had better start getting over myself.

So I started handing over the camera more often. I started taking self-portraits of myself or me and the kids squished up together. I got on a bike once or twice. I survived the shock and no small animals were knocked sideways as my butt rode past.

I went swimming occasionally. I jumped in some waves on family holidays. I have been trying really hard to get over myself. The result? I am in lots more photos. And I kinda like it! The great thing about digital photos is you can delete the ugly ones before anyone sees. Or turn them black and white to hide your blotchy complexion. Or crop out the flabby arms. But at least there's a record. Of me, the mummy, with my kids, having fun.

This holiday I pulled out all the stops.

I packed my togs. And I put them on and went swimming on the first day (start as you mean to go on, I say). It was wonderful! What can beat having your toddler's little body wrapped around you in the water, clinging on and plastering you with wet salty (snotty) kisses?

Is there any better fun than your big boy and his new pal playing water tag with you? And thinking you are way fun and cool??

Is there anything sweeter than teaching your daughter to swim and floating on backs side by side gazing up at the sky??

How about the magic of breathing in salty air and gum leaves as you bike with your family along the seafront? Watching your son and daughter race ahead confidently on two wheels?

Would you want to miss being there the second after your little girl falls off her bike and scrapes her knee... being there to wipe her tears as you try to figure out how you'll get her and her bike back to the hotel...

...then hearing her say bravely through her tears, "No I can do it. I want to try again..." The pride of watching her get up, brush herself off and carry on. Your heart nearly bursts I tell ya.

A funny thought struck me. If had been back at the apartment with a book and missed the whole thing while daddy went riding, do you think I'd remember which book I read in a month's time? Or a year? I doubt it. But I will never forget those moments. And neither will my kids.

Me and my girl rode sick-making rollercoasters together. We drove dodgems together and screamed with laughter as we chased and bumped daddy and Dash. We got soaked together on every log ride possible, and I took her to get her hair braided - a big girls treat.

I even went to Wet'N'Wild and spent the whole day in my swimmers. Yes. I did. But I was clever, I went and bought a nice long-sleeved, high-necked black rash top, so I felt comfy walking around. There is video footage of me jumping waves in the wave pool with Scrag, in my swimmers, and I have to say I don't look as bad as I thought I would!

But how I look is not what matters. The fact that I am the heaviest I have ever been (barring pregnancy) and yet I'm parading around in swimmers... who cares?? Who's looking? Which strangers on their holidays are going to go home telling the funny story about the lady with the dimpled thighs who had the audacity to display them??? Nobody. Nobody cares. Nobody is looking. They're all too busy with their own lives, their own issues.

And if they happen to glance over and see me in my swimmers, do I really care if they think, "Gee she doesn't look much like a supermodel!!"???

No. I don't. Because finally, finally I think I can say with 87.3% certainty that I am almost 95% Over Myself. And it feels goooooood!