I look at the floor
Strewn with toys
Hoping nobody sees
How many of them are plastic
I look in the mirror and
Suck in my gut
The one I earned
The one that carried life
I look in my closet
Searching for something that will
Make me feel sexy and instead
I put on the “I give up” dress (again)
I look at what others are doing
Creating, writing, losing weight, gaining money
And think they are doing more/better
While I’m doing less than/not enough
But none of these stories are true
They are made up
What if I looked at myself
The way I look at other mamas?
With tender loving care
What if I treated myself to what I needed most?
What if I stopped gauging my success
Based on the stories I tell myself about others
And collected baby giggles, tearful snuggles, Goodnight Moons
As evidence of a Job Well Done?
What if I reminded myself
Over and over
That I am doing
The Most Important Work There Is?
What if I changed the story?