My youngest tells me I’m comfy. She says this as she cuddles with me on the couch or gives me one of those “I don’t ever want to let you go” hugs. I’ve often been torn about how to receive this comment. As a 7 year old, I am sure she intends it as a compliment; sort of a nod to my motherliness. As a woman, I generally want to be anything but comfy. I have many gifts, but “stick-to-it-ness” is not one of them. Sure, I can get started, but at some point I usually punk out and deem it not worth the effort. Therefore, losing weight is not my forte. I probably can’t get away with claiming it as “baby weight” now that my babies are 7 and 11.
I do attribute my shape to my two pregnancies, which have given me curves I never had previously. I am grateful for my curves and for how feminine I feel when I embrace them. Yet, there is always this inner voice that tells me there could (and should) be less of me to go around. This voice has been amplified by others who have used their outer voice to influence my inner voice and convince me that I am not sufficient, just as I am.
Raising little girls is a lot of pressure, particularly when trying to combat the images to which society holds them. In our family, our standard is much higher for we are “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:14). I have spent a long time trying to please others and fit into their mold, but that never works out.
I am me. I am cuddly. I am comfy. If that is good enough for my daughters, it is good enough for me.