The other day I looked in the mirror and nit picked my body. I saw everything that was wrong with it (in the eyes of me.)
And then as I rocked Evan to sleep, I sat pondering about my body. How whole it is. How I need to be more grateful for the things it can do and care less about what I wish it was.
My head can perform 4 out of the 5 senses. That's pretty awesome.
My arms can hold my kids, give hugs, fix boo boos.
My legs can chase my kids in a game of tag, pick up my kids for "airplane" rides, warm up cold feet underneath the covers.
My back can give piggy back rides, horsey rides, bend down to pick up and soothe away tears.
My heart. It can burst with pride. Fill with love. Ache with I shoulda's. Shoulda said I loved more, hugged more, said I was proud more, said I was sorry more.
My body, although not perfect in my eyes, is perfectly perfect. It does what it needs to do, what it can do. It has done a lot, performed miracles even. (if you think about growing a baby as being a miracle)