Its taken me a long time to figure out what feeling beautiful actually meant. There was a time when I was younger, a teenager, that I had an hourglass figure and boyfriends who wanted to be with me, but I was not by any means beautiful. Beautiful, as it has turned out in my life, is not something that can be found in the pages of a magazine or at the counter of an expansive makeup stand.
Today I'm wearing size 16 jeans, with stains all over them, a shirt that at one point in time used to be a dress but fits me like a shirt thanks to the spare tire I carry around my waist. I have on a tatty old bra that I love that somehow makes my breasts, who have dropped about 3 inches thanks to nursing two babies, back where they are supposed to be, or at least close enough. My hair is tied up in a messy knot on the back of my head and my face, in all of its natural glory, is totally bare. And I have never felt more beautiful.
Its an inward type of beauty now though, a beauty that cannot be seen by simply looking into a mirror. Its the beauty that can only be brought out by having a tiny someone in your life that needs you, depends on you, and loves you unconditionally can bring.
I'm a mom. A wonderful beautiful mom.