The first time is happens, we're out walking: my youngest, Clara Taylor is cocooned in a Snugli watching her older sisters march like soldiers down our street. A car slowly passes by and they scramble to hold my hand.
Fast forward ten years ~ just TEN years~ and I am now the proud mother of three beautiful teenage girls. When they were younger they could drain my energy so quickly. But in this season of my life, the consciousness of walking forward into life flanked by three beautiful young women is transforming me.
My middle daughter, Madeline and I take a thirty minute walk each evening now that the weather is nice. As we stroll down our neighborhood streets with fingers intertwined, I don't think about how I look or what I have on. I already know. From this moment on, I have never felt more beautiful. In the motherly words of a dear friend, "...when we walk through the door together, I'm smiling from something cosmetics can't deliver. It's the consciousness of my good fortune in being a mother."
My own mother has been organizing my daughter's birthday pictures into scrapbook pages. My girls are happily amused when they see their parents in years gone by. Snapshots of two people caught in trends now obsolete: Farrah Fawcett big hair, wide lapels from a leisure suit, and checkered bell bottoms. When I study my 'motherhood' pictures of yesterday, I can't help but consider what a lovely face that woman has ~my face. It has taken 17 years, three babies, and many walks as I come to understand: I am a beautiful mama.
Fast forward ten years ~ just TEN years~ and I am now the proud mother of three beautiful teenage girls. When they were younger they could drain my energy so quickly. But in this season of my life, the consciousness of walking forward into life flanked by three beautiful young women is transforming me.
My middle daughter, Madeline and I take a thirty minute walk each evening now that the weather is nice. As we stroll down our neighborhood streets with fingers intertwined, I don't think about how I look or what I have on. I already know. From this moment on, I have never felt more beautiful. In the motherly words of a dear friend, "...when we walk through the door together, I'm smiling from something cosmetics can't deliver. It's the consciousness of my good fortune in being a mother."
My own mother has been organizing my daughter's birthday pictures into scrapbook pages. My girls are happily amused when they see their parents in years gone by. Snapshots of two people caught in trends now obsolete: Farrah Fawcett big hair, wide lapels from a leisure suit, and checkered bell bottoms. When I study my 'motherhood' pictures of yesterday, I can't help but consider what a lovely face that woman has ~my face. It has taken 17 years, three babies, and many walks as I come to understand: I am a beautiful mama.
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