Self Image

I've been feeling a little self-conscious about my body lately. (I'll admit, it's easy to talk about celebrating one's body when you're normally a size 6.) Pregnancy definitely did a number on me. Despite rubbing lotion on my belly nearly every day, I still ended up with a crazy amount of stretch marks. I've got love handles for miles. And I'm avoiding form-fitting shirts like the plague for fear that my mushy muffin top will be unleashed upon an unsuspecting public. Most of the time I can still feel good about myself, but lately I've felt deeply frustrated at my altered appearance.

But there's at least one person who doesn't see all those flaws: my son. He looks at me like I'm the most beautiful person he's ever seen. When I walk by, his admiring gaze follows me wherever I go. When I go to his crib every morning, his eyes light up. He has a special smile just for me. And my singing voice, far from refined or beautiful, always calms him when he cries. I've never known a human love that was so unconditional--or an adoration so pure and free from bias.

I once told another blogger that children make us face the worst in ourselves. But they also reveal the best in us, too. They show us what we can be, and what we should aspire to. I hope to always be the beautiful woman my son sees, both inside and out. I know it's too much to hope that he'll always look at me this way, so I will treasure the moment while I can.

And do some sit-ups.