My daughter? She is perfect. She is also me. Every inch of her is me... except maybe her heart. Her heart is so, so incredibly vast. I love. Of course I do. I lead with love, I start with love, and work towards love in everything I do. But this girl? She loves unconditionally in a way I'm not sure I even yet grasp. She just IS love. (Is that even possible?)
She has my legs. She has my hips. She has my hair.
I've spent thirty (plus) years wondering why on earth god thought it was OK to give me these legs. These hips. This hair. And then she comes along. A thirty-nine inch tall copy of my legs, hips, and hair... and it's beautiful. It is perfect.
She has sparked an inner-dialog for me that no therapist, gym routine, diet, or inspirational story/quote/etc ever managed to do. I just stare at her little tiny human self and wonder how on earth she could ever see herself as anything but utterly perfect.And then I realize... she will. Because she is me. And as perfect as she is, she is not society's image of perfect.
So now I spend my days wondering how on earth I make sure she knows how perfect she is...how on earth I make sure I know how perfect I am, so she can internalize that through me.
I'll be here. Working on it.
[Also, this post has no prompt - which is bad, because I am terribly far behind on my writing commitment, but I'll figure that out, too.]