As I sit here unable to sleep, I usher in my birthday in the quiet darkness of the house. Forty-four. Seems so old. Yesterday my daughter, mom, and I went and tried on formal dresses. Ladies, if you want to feel old and frumpy, try on dresses with your teenage daughter whose body is in the prime of life. I tried on a beautiful red dress, or I should say attempted to. After a wrestling match in the dressing room with my daughter’s assistance, we finally got it on. And it was beyond unflattering. The straps were too long, the boobs were too big, the belly was tight enough to see my belly button but somehow loose at the same time, the hips were so tight I could barely move, I think my butt looked ok, but I couldn’t move to see it, and it was about four inches too long. It was the most ill-fitting dress ever! I watched my daughter try on dress after dress, each more beautiful than the last. The only issue she had was trying to find one modest enough that the boys wouldn’t drool…too much. As I looked at my body, it almost looked foreign. Lumps, bumps, and sags. What happened to firm, fit, and perky? We’ve come up with many “cute” ways to say some of these. Bat wings, thunder thighs, muffin top…

Ladies, I’m afraid we’ve done our daughters a huge disservice. I’m guilty of taking these “dressing room” opportunities to bash my body. To complain about the extra pounds, the added softness, and the need for additional material to cover it all up. As I sit here and think back on my life I begin to realize something very beautiful, my body. It won’t win any swimsuit competitions unless my husband is the only judge, but it has an amazing story to tell. The stretch marks and “muffin top” are a reminder of the gift I was given of being able to bring into this world two of my best friends. The “thunder thighs” thunder a little louder now that I’m not chasing little ones around the house, I’ve been blessed to be able to watch them grow up into adults. The “bat wings” are sagging from all the hugs that I’ve been able to give and receive over the years. My scar from my spine surgery is a reminder of my husband’s undying love for me and the hours he spent serving me as I recovered. The sunspots are from our walks on the beach, hand and hand. I have laugh lines around my eyes and some deep valleys on my forehead from worry. My boobs are falling and unable to get back up. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Honestly, though, they have offered comfort to my babies, and a soft place to land when the kids needed a hug after a hard day. My husband seems to be fond of them as well. Who can blame them for getting tired?

My life has been far from perfect, and my body mirrors that quite well, and I’m learning to be ok with that. I saw Dolly on the halftime show over Thanksgiving, she looked pretty good, but she didn’t look 77. In my humble opinion, my dear friend who is over 80 is way prettier than Dolly. Her hair is grey and styled in the latest fashions, she usually needs the assistance of a walker, she always wears cute and fashionable clothing, and always has a smile ready and waiting. She looks like she’s 77 and has the wisdom of someone who is 100. If I had to choose between visiting with Dolly or my friend, I would pick my friend every day of the week. Do you know why? Because she’s real. When did we become so scared of looking old? When do we start to shame ourselves for not having the body of a 20-year-old? As my daughter experiences the many wonders of life I pray she doesn’t do so with bitterness over what she’s “lost,” but with wonder and awe over the way God has created her. I no longer want to shove my body into the beautiful red dress. It doesn’t fit because that’s not where I am in life. I’m not 20, I’m 44 and I’m beyond grateful that I’ve made it this far in more or less one piece. I wouldn’t change one lump, bump, or sag because that is the story of who I am and how I got here.