a letter

Dear Heavenly Father,

I know you know me. You know my heart, you know how much I wish for all sorts of important things around me. Much more important than the topic in this letter. I know you hear my prayers. I know you feel my unnecessary anxieties in life and help me work through them all. And that whole patience thing, man where would I be as a mother without your help in that department!?

I know you work all sorts of miracles, both big and small. I know you are the only one who could create the human body and all the specifics that make it work. I know you have the whole world going on with wars and awful things you are helping people understand. I also know you are around with the rainbows and inventions of great things like delicious baby swiss cheese. I know you are all powerful and totally in charge of this whole big place and all the finer details. I know you have reasons for things happening and not happening.

Because I know these things, I do feel it's okay to ask you this burning question I have. Why do we women lose out boobs when we have babies? I mean, I know they are technically still there. And we both know how long I waited as a teenager to get them. I prayed often to you for them to grow and boy when they did I was sure grateful! And then they kept growing and we can't deny they assisted in the attraction of my husband, who also loved them.

So we take on the role of parents and I know how pleased you are about families growing. So I give birth and nurse the baby. Which I offer is far easier an experience for myself than most- a gracious thank you for that. And then when the time comes to wean the baby we are sort of left looking like aboriginal women. And I don't understand why it needs to end this way for our womanly shapes. It's really quite the head trip between the sheets to work off all that pregnancy fat and then find you are a much different woman on the outside than you were not that long ago.

I realize we get all sorts of blessings from motherhood and all, and I get that it's not supposed to be easy. I get that it's non-stop and I always am working on better accepting there is no lunch break alone for a long, long time. And that's my job, to care for them all hours of the morning and night and I am glad I am home and able-bodied to carry out their needs.

It's just that when I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself to tend to another urgent child matter, it makes me a little bit sad that the towel falls down. It used to not fall down. It used to stay on, in fact, I probably could have run laps around the block and it would have stayed wrapped and upright. Instead of slipping down and unraveling.

Maybe my awesome rack made me too confident. Maybe I cared too much about it. Maybe I am supposed to connect and empathize with aboriginal women. Maybe we are not supposed to have the bodies we once did for a reason. And I am sure in your eyes 'fair' isn't really something we have time to talk about with so many more important things going on in the world. But sometimes it just seems like that would be one cool perk to give us after this whole birthing/ nursing/ no sleep experience.

I know, it's petty. Really. I need to just get over it. Or start to think about what you might think about plastic surgery. I really don't want to get fake ones, you know how afraid I am of just a needle drawing blood. I just am hoping to understand this one a little better.

I really love the clouds and blue sky a lot. And the green grass. And butterflies- those are among my most favorite of all of your creations. And my family most of all, thank you for them.

In Love and Curiosity,