I was having one of those I want to crawl out of my skin days the other morning. I was feeling down about myself and my body. Definitely woke up on the wrong side of the bed. At 6:30am I already didn’t feel thin enough or just plain good enough. Good morning body shaming. I could barely put my shirt on due to the aching in my left arm. I was exhausted as soon as I stepped out of bed. I so wished I could have crawled back under the warm covers and let the day slide by. (And waking up with stronger, thinner body would have been a plus.) But as the beeping continued I sleepily walked to his room.
As I stepped into his room I started to tear up.
He looked at me as if he’d been waiting for me his whole life.
I lifted his 27 pound, 3 year old body out of his crib and kissed his face.
I grabbed his feeding pump and bag with one arm, cradled him with the other, and went downstairs.
I asked him if he wanted to watch a show as I bent down and laid him on his mat. He gave me his usual giggle when I said the word “show” and immediately rolled to his tummy to prepare for Little Einsteins.
After logging onto Netflix I walked into the kitchen to get his meds ready and make myself a much needed cup of coffee.
With my nice warm cup I walked back to the living room to take a seat next to him. I needed to change his diaper, get him dressed, put his hearing aids in, put on a new tube extension with food bag, and give him his medications.
As I did all of this I thought to myself my legs are his legs, my arms are his arms.
My thoughts of my body not being “good enough” vanished.
Without my legs, he would stay in one place.
Without my arms, he wouldn’t get the things he needs.
To push his wheelchair, my body is needed.
To lift him in and out of the van, my body is needed.
To carry him up and down the stairs, my body is needed.
To hug him close and tell him he’s loved, my body is needed.
My legs are his legs, my arms are his arms.
How often I forget to be grateful for the things I take for granted.
Christopher can’t walk. He can’t talk. He can’t sit unsupported. He cannot clap. He can’t bring a spoon to his lips. He cannot tell me when he’s hurting and where it’s hurting. He can’t enjoy the sweetness or saltiness of food. He can’t tell me he loves me.
As he not-so-patiently waits for me to push play on his show I look at him and make a promise.
I promise not to take my strong, capable body for granted.
I promise not to long for a thinner, different, “better” body.
I promise to be grateful for the things that come so easy to me.
I promise to thank God for the body that I was given. My body that can stand, walk, talk, crawl, speak, clap, hug….and push the buttons on the microwave to warm up my now cold cup of coffee. 😉
My legs are His legs, my arms are His arms.