Body Memories, by Annie Wexler

Age 7.  My mother tries to curl my fine straight hair with a curling iron. The ringlets droop within a minute. "You have terrible hair," she says. My first knowledge of shame.

Age 9.  I live in the country. There are few other kids. My body is skinny and wiry. I can climb trees, forge streams, catch insects. My life is in the woods.

Age 12.  A baby sitter tells me, "You have beautiful legs." My first moment of consciousness about my body. After that I start looking in the mirror.

Age 13.  I go on a nighttime hayride in the back of a big pickup truck with a Jewish youth group. Benjie Levine lies down next to me and I feel his erection. I don't know what it is. Benjie later becomes a gynecologist and later still goes to jail for fondling his patients.

Age 13 1/2.  I get my first period. There is a red stain in my panties. I run and tell my mother. She slaps my face and I am in shock. "That  is what my mother did to me," she says. "To bring the blood back to your face." Then she shows me how to use a sanitary belt and pad. It will be years before tampons.

Age 14.  I run a race in summer camp and win and am declared the fastest runner of all the girls. I get a trophy. I feel pride for the first time.

Age 17.  I leave for college. I have dyed blond hair cut in a pageboy style. I wear knee-length skirts and sweater sets with pearl buttons. I am my mother's daughter.

Age 19.  I leave college and spend time on a kibbutz in Israel. I shed my old clothes in favor of khaki pants and work boots. I stop shaving my legs and armpits.  I do hard physical labor and my body sings with exhilaration. I am no longer my mother's daughter. She never gets over it.

Age 21. I get married for the first time. We have sex. I don't know anything about orgasms. I have to fake liking it to be a good wife, but my body isn't really there.

Age 28. I am pregnant with my first child. I throw up every day for the first six months. What is my body telling me? My breasts are huge and my belly stretches until I think I will burst. And when I do, everything is blissful. I nurse my son at 2 a. m. in a rocking chair. I have never known such peace.

Age 40.  Another child, a failed marriage, a new lover who tries to seduce me by hand-feeding me chocolate truffles as foreplay. It works. I am in my sexual prime and it is that little window of time after birth control pills but before herpes and AIDS. My body revels in its juicy glory.

Age 55.  Another failed marriage. Menopause. No more cramps, no more fibroids, but no more youth. My body won't sleep at night. It torments me with hot flashes. Hair thins, everything dries up. Where will I be in 10 years?

Age 74.  My body is happy again. At peace with the changes. Some things point down that used to point up. Some things sag that used to be tight. Brown spots on my hands, pain in my back. But I feel strong and healthy and in love with my body. For as longs as it lasts I am grateful.