I see you looking in the mirror,

wondering where YOU went.

Wherever the you of yesteryear is,

she’s there with her

22-year-old rock-hard tummy,

toned legs,

perky boobs,

tight rear

and no pooch.

I see you looking in the mirror,

on a relentless search for flaws,

amplifying and emphasizing and then critiquing and criticizing

every
last
little
self-decided
one.

But I see you taking stand today.

I see you standing tall

and proud

and standing up to those self-deprecating thoughts

in
real
time.

Not today devil.

Not today.

You.
Will.
Not.
Win.

I see you looking in the mirror,

knowing who the heck YOU are.

Being proud of her.

Fully aware that every

wrinkle on your face,

roll on your belly,

and callus on your feet

tells a story.

Like how you birthed three beautiful baby souls.

How you sat criss-cross applesauce for the first three years of each of their lives.

How you have

laughed with them,

stressed over them,

cried for and with them

for
the
last
eleven
years.

And how you get very little sleep,

but very much love.

I see you looking in the mirror.

And I see you recognizing the beautiful story that is

YOU.