“Busy moms loving and caring for the bodies God gave us.”
It sounds so nice doesn’t it. I hide behind the words on a Pinterest graphic and catchy blog posts. All the while, silently cursing you. You and your scars and your extra pounds and your rashy arms. You. Me.
I have been angry at you for “betraying me.” When, now that I think about it, it is I who have betrayed you.
Your job is thankless. You have housed the inner workings of my being. You are a vessel for all that is me. What you have endured is simply astounding. And still, I see you in the mirror and criticize you and tear you down.
I berate you for not being what you used to be – slim and trim. I remind you of that prior version of you, nigh daily.
I tell you you aren’t good enough anymore. I wish parts of you would change. Other parts, I wish away completely. I push you to change by exercising and then shake my head when you won’t perform, when you get breathless, when you lack energy, or when you simply don’t give me the results I want to see.
I have spent so many words proudly declaring how motherhood has changed me, the astounding realizations my eyes have been opened to, what I’ve learned from it all. I’ve changed. I’m the same person, but very different from who I used to be.
But you. How dare you change. How dare you be less than what you once were.
And I forget that it was you who made me a mother. You who carried and grew that child who has changed my world. You who miraculously provided for his nutritional needs for another 2 1/2 years. You whose arms lift him in and out of beds, bathtubs, and car seats – day in and day out.
But instead of thanking you, I curse you and your rolls and your flab and your scars – forgetting the miracle that left you with them.
And above all, in cursing you, I’m cursing your Maker. The one Who knit you together in the womb of your mother. The one Who formed you, fearfully and wonderfully.
I forget that He knew this would happen. Your scars, your pounds, your adrenal fatigue, your food allergies, your irritable bowels, your heart palpitations, and all the things that make you you. He knows your limitations. And He still says, “You are fearfully and wonderfully made.”
And so, today, I’m telling you that it’s okay to be you. That I love you, just the way you are. That I’m sorry for treating you this way.
You have given me the gift of a beautiful child. Your capabilities are amazing. Your scars have made me who I am.
You are beautiful.
And so I am going to raise your hands to the heavens and thank the Creator for you. For making you so fearfully and wonderfully.
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