BIRTHday

It happens consciously, unconsciously, and constantly: I compare myself to other women. I think it’s part of the perpetual quest to prove to myself that I’m actually ok, to illustrate to that loathsome little critical voice in my head that I’m just like everybody else and that it should just shut the hell up. This backfires on me more often than not as I always find somebody taller, prettier, skinnier, sexier etc. than me. This kind of thinking is not entirely some diabolical invention of cosmetics companies, but it is most certainly perpetuated by them. The model we see in shampoo/mascara/wrinkle cream/underwear/lip gloss commercials is not someone many of us can identify with, and she is held up as the ideal feminine, what we all could be at our most perfect. We are trained to look at women to see how we measure up- to see how much more we need to change.

These comparisons work because we buy into an understanding that other women are radically different from us. They’re skinnier or fatter or prettier or younger. We obsess over these differences and blind ourselves to what it is we share...

We all have the ability to do something so huge and amazing and unthinkable. We can nourish and bring into the world another human life. Today’s my birthday, and as a nineteen-year-old and a person to whom childbirth seems so distant and superhuman, I’ve spent some time thinking about exactly what it was that went on nineteen years ago today. The ability, the strength to be pregnant and have a baby is preposterous and gross and beautiful and wonderful, and I salute every woman that has ever done it. EVER. You are awesome.

That is what we share. We are not just our differences, our placement on the perfection scale, skinny, curvy, tan, or tall. We have a common history, a tradition, and a future of bringing life into this world. We ALL do.

So, happy BIRTHday to you, Mom. Today I celebrate you.