Sometimes after a shower or before bed, I'll stand in front of the mirror and take in my new (and daily-changing) reflection, marveling at what I'm seeing.
All my life I have longed to see my belly swollen with child. When I see it, I smile, without fail. I admit I try to catch glimpses of my pregnant self in mirrors and windows whenever possible.
But I never expected to be seeing this particular reflection looking back at me:
A round belly, full of child (full of Grace!), and above it, two breast-like mounds marked with massive diagonal scars, fully healed but still discolored. I can still see the marks of other scars - biopsies, and the places where drains once protruded through my skin - and the slight unevenness that is inevitable when man tries to make a boob as well as God does.
I do not see breasts that will feed my child. I do not see the full effects of pregnancy on a female body. I do not see what I expected to see when I dreamed about this time as a woman in my late teens and early 20s.
Now and then I give myself a moment to stand in front of the mirror and take it all in, and to figure out how I feel about all this.
And to my surprise, I feel pretty good.
No, I don't see what I expected, but what I do see is life, and lots of it. What I do see is strength, the strength of a fighter. What I do see is love, a love I already know yet cannot anticipate - that moment when I meet this little one, and get to know her.
What I do see is beauty. It is the beauty that comes from that life, from that fight, from that strength, from that love. Even, from the sadness of that loss.
I wish I could have seen the reflection that I dreamed and imagined as a very young woman. But if I'm being completely honest... I might prefer this one.
This one, this one belongs to a woman who is ready to teach her daughter about how real beauty looks.
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