It had been so long since she had stood before a mirror naked. The long and lean reflective surface was embedded in the ageing almirah of their hotel room and she prayed it would be able to contain her full figure. Her eyes fluttered over to her husband asleep on the bed. He had surely forgotten what she looked like naked. With every pound of flesh she had gained their bedroom had become a shade darker.
The light was now a flattering pale yellow. But not flattering enough. Her breasts cast misshapen shadows on the wall and the vast, lumpy expanse that was her stomach. She knew what lay below but was shy, almost afraid to look. As though it was rude to stare at one's own private parts. She glanced at her husband again to make sure he was still asleep, and then reluctantly let her eyes touch the sparse growth of hair that nestled between her thighs. Thighs that rubbed against each other with every step she took.
She turned, trying to find something she liked. But all she saw was her low slung behind. Her stomach looked even bigger from the side. She protectively cupped its drooping weight with her two hands like women did when they were pregnant. But there had never been anything there. Nor would there be.
She took in a deep breath and held it, standing straight and staring at the shadow she now cast. Everything seemed a little higher now. Her breasts. Her chin. Her mood. She smiled and crept back in to bed her mind holding on to the image it had just received.