This Mama's Body

I complain to Chris about it. Some how I think it insults him, my constant worry over the softness this body has developed with the years.
I fuss to friends who join in the harassment of our bodies, bodies that have carried babies, that have rocked and held and nurtured life.
I worry to my doctor about the number on the scale remaining bigger than I like.

And I wonder how many more comments are going to be unnoticed by this little girl dancing in her underwear. When will I create a fear in her of the shape, size and function of her body. When will she say "I'm sorry I'm not as skinny (if one could ever call me skinny) as I once was."?

And I find that I am conspiring with the culture to make another girl, another woman, sorry for the body she has been given. That I am conspiring with the world to steal the beauty God has placed in her, because she is woman.

So in repentance, for the damage I have done to myself and the damage I have spoken into her life with my fussing, I count

::scars which brought forth life::

::strength to make a boy laugh while flying::

::swimming (of the Pilates kind) giggles::

::legs that carry us to water and leaves::

::arms to cuddle::

::softness to be cuddled into::

::hands to prepare nourishment::

::and to wipe tears::

::races run, puddles jumped in, tag played::

::seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, tasting, living::

Fearfully and wonderfully made.

Thank you, Mindi, for calling this to my attention.