I weigh more than I ever have before. I wear a bigger size than I ever have before. I have more soft folds than I ever have before. On the last flight I took, while the seatbelt fit fine the sides of the seat nearly left marks on my hips. Sometimes I don’t recognize my own face in the mirror.
But today my son barreled into the office where I was working, clutching a bouquet from the grocery store. He’d picked it out himself, saying “I have to get mommy these pretty flowers!” And though he didn’t say it with words, I know he thinks I’m beautiful.
I know this because I’ve always thought my own mother is beautiful.
My friends? They’re soft after growing people. They’ve gained folds and a little jiggle too. They’ve cried in dressing rooms at the numbers on tags sewn into garments, and they’ve said things about themselves in their heads that they’d never repeat out loud. When they confess these things to me I can’t believe it, because to me they’re beautiful. This is how I know that
the worst mommy war is the one we wage on ourselves.
The size listed on a tag does not – can not – define you. That soft, gently squishy stomach grew people. GREW PEOPLE. Those breasts that now sag did a miraculous thing – they fed babies. Thighs that touch speak to a strong body that carries more than the weight of itself. For all of these reasons and so many more, it’s time to declare peace with your body. To be kind to yourself. To whisper a thanks to your waistline for a job well done.
Your children think you’re beautiful. Your husband gives you bedroom eyes. God fashioned you exactly as He pictured you in His mind.
Let these be the measurements that matter.
The worst mommy war is the one we wage on ourselves. >>Tweet This