A couple of months ago me and my boy hopped on the train to Glasgow, made our way to a dusty studio space in Dennistoun and stripped to our undies in front of half a dozen strangers. No, I haven’t joined a weird mother & child nudist cult. Neither have I taken up lap dancing to make ends meet. It was, in fact, all in aid of Operation BoPo’s art exhibition which was held in October to celebrate the beauty of the human body.

I was there to represent the legion of mums who are now sporting a little more wobble than they did and whose boobs are sitting a little lower than they used to. I was there to declare to the world (and myself) that yes I have a mum-tum, stretch marks, saggy boobs & varicose veins and that’s ok. It doesn’t make me less kind, less loving, less important. It does not define me.

This is the truth. This is me. And I love it!

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