Remember when we were little and we were friends? You weren’t good or bad, fat or skinny, ugly or beautiful. You were just me. You were the vehicle I rolled down grassy hills in, screaming with laughter. I wrapped myself in you to swim in the ocean with my Grandma. You were the cocoon I snuggled in to sleep at night.
We’ve walked the streets of Mexico, the shorelines of beaches and endless miles on dirt roads. We’ve birthed two perfect, extremely large babies and we’ve fed them with milk we made from pizza, steak salads and cold cereal. We’ve walked endless miles with my Mama shopping. We’ve danced for hours upon hours, all sweat and motion.
We’ve been through a lot together and we survived!
Despite everything that I’ve put you through, you’re still carrying me through this life.
I’ve tried to change you more times than I can count—perming your naturally straight hair, starving you to fit into a smaller size, spending early morning hours at the gym trying to make you more toned and laying in the sun for endless hours to make you darker.
I’ve pierced you and permanently tattooed you. I’ve dyed your hair more colors than I can count.
I’ve allowed what other people think change my thoughts of you.
I’ve abused you verbally. I belittled you. I called you fat. I complained about you. I compared you to every single woman that walks past me. I talked to you worse than I ever would speak to anyone else.
I’ve abused you physically. You have endured multiple displays of my clumsiness, bad luck, horrible aim and dumb-flat-feet-make-me-trip. And by multiple I really mean uncountable…but yet, you kept going. You didn’t throw your hands up in the air and say that’s IT, this girl is unreal…how can she fall UP the stairs and DOWN them?
I’ve had one simple surgery somehow turn into 17. Through it all, you never gave up or gave in. Not even in ICU where you were so, so very tired.
You are an amazing creation that God designed specifically for me. You have carried me through 42 years of playing + walking + moving + learning + thinking + creating + loving + living. We may have had good times and bad times, but trust me when I tell you that I really do love you.
I love your lips and eyes that show my heritage, the skin that has allowed me to age gracefully and that tans oh so easily.
I love the stretch marks that show you carried and fed two healthy babies.
I love that you have arms that have allowed me to hold my sweet Grandma as she passed into the arms of Jesus, to hold and twirl my babies around the living room while the music was too loud and to wrap around my husbands shoulders during every hug.
I love your laughter, even though it’s loud and obnoxious. I love that we can find humor every day, and laugh so hard we can’t catch our breath. And I love that you passed that exact same laugh to my daughter.
I love that you’ve always had a bit of booty. I may have tried to hide that part of you when I was younger, but just know that I appreciate those humps now.
I love your dark brown eyes, though I spent many days when I was younger wishing they weren’t so boring. They show me beauty and allow me to capture it with my camera. They allow me to experience all the beautiful creations of God displayed around me daily.
I love your ability to sing and how much pure joy it’s brought me throughout the years. From harmonizing beside my Dad in church to car dance parties with my littles.
I love the multiple scars we have, they show we persevered and we’re alive! It’s because of you that this Mama can see her kids grow up.
I promise to try harder at accepting and embracing you for what you are instead of harshly judging you and holding you to an impossible standard of perfection. God gave me a perfect gift when He gave me you.