I have big thighs. They are really the only large and voluptuous part of my body. Some people would say I am pear shaped, but I lovingly refer to them as my thunder thighs. They are strong and large. They jiggle a little when I dance. They are the only place I ever gain or lose weight. One thing I have always hate most about them are three small stretch marks I have on the very top of each thigh. I used to wear shorts over my bikini just to cover them.
My son has big thighs. They are deliciously chubby. He is 8 months old, and his body looks tiny compared to his huge legs. I like to call them Spartan legs. His soft skin folds in strange places over the baby fat. I love them. I love to kiss them. He loves when I pretend I am eating them like corn on the cob. He kicks them excitedly when I make him laugh.
And now my own thighs don't seem so bad. Those three tiny stretch marks are nothing compared to the wrinkly mess my stomach is in after pregnancy. My wide hips are perfect for carrying a baby around. My curves make me feel like a woman. I am glad my son inherited my thunder thighs. He will need strong legs to stand on, in this world.