Battle Scars & Beauty

I saw a beautiful showing of art today about the relationship between mother and child, interpreted through the mother's self-reflective point of view. Without getting too much in to it, besides to say that if you live in Atlanta you should absolutely go see it, as all great art does, I'll say that it got me thinking. It got me thinking about a lot of things, in a different way than I'd thought about things in a while. It was one of those experiences where 10 minutes after leaving the exhibit, while driving on the highway on my way home, I started weeping. Weeping at the realization that -- I'm not alone.

All those deep dark feelings and yearnings I have, I'm not the only one. The land I live in so many hours of my life, part fairy tale/part reality tv show, is not in isolation. You know what it got me thinking about? Risk. I have been a Mama for just shy of 11 years. I have 3 children all in elementary school for 7 hours a day. I'm dreaming again--like realistic, I could really do this type dreams. Like, "I want to accomplish this", "I want to create this for real" type of dreams. When the kids were smaller, maybe 2, 3-1/2, and 5, I was dreaming of Caribbean beach towns. I was dreaming of freedom and liberation. Those dreams got me through the day. Now my aspirations include things like starting a business, buying real estate, changing what my daily routine has looked like for the past decade -- risky stuff!

But what is more risky than motherhood? One minute you're responsible for yourself, and maybe a dog. The next minute, you pee on a stick and you're responsible for this being growing inside you. Whatever you do to yourself, you do to this person. You are it's shelter, it's nourishment, it's protection. You body does not belong to you alone anymore--you have a 10 month tenant.

I remember being in Mexico a couple of months before my first child was born. I was rocking my little maternity bikini, feeling good about my body. I pointed out a spot on my stomach that I thought was a bruise, until my husband so graciously advised me that it was a stretch mark. Oh boy. This tenant was damaging the place and I had no security deposit for repairs! Well, I proceeded to watch my belly grow to, what, 20 times it's size? Not just that once, but three times over the course of three years. And my boobs--my poor boobs. Engorged, raw, deflated...they worked hard during their cumulative 20 months of nursing, and they have now checked in for a life of permanent relaxation.

I now have 3 precious children that are my responsibility. It's my job to keep them healthy and safe. Their security lies in my hands. Holding your newborn baby for the first time quickly alerts you to the reality that this person is depending on you completely. Yikes! THAT is scary! Forget buying a rental property--that's nothing compared to what I signed up for by bringing these 3 people in to the world.

So I walk around and notice all the Moms out there. We're so brave! We're living our life out in this body with sagging skin, scars, and extra weight, doing kegels so we don't pee ourselves. We sacrifice our bodies, our memories, our free time, our careers, our vibrancy, and our sporty cars. Maybe not all of us, or maybe not all at once. But becoming a mother is risky business and the weak need not apply. Even if you start out unsure, the ferociousness emerges.

I'd like to think that our pride in this role gives us a new kind of sex appeal. A strength and vitality that draws people to us. I do glance down the tempting path of "getting the physical stuff fixed," but then I see an art exhibit or a pregnant mama, or I look at myself with a little more love and acceptance and tell myself that these are my battle scars. Beauty comes from within so make sure you're glossy and glittery from the inside first. And maybe that will be enough.