This is me.

Aging.

Dry skin.

Chapped lips.

Postpartum baby hairs.

Makeup to hide the sleep deprivation.


But one day, I will look at this picture and those won't be the words that come to mind.


Instead, I will remember the days when my daughter was always in my arms.
My son, who loves to draw, sing, and cuddle.
The me who was able to run, walk, climb and pick them up whenever I can.


I read a poem the other day about how when we die, people who come to our funerals don't end up talking about the clothes we wore or how flawless our skin was. They talk about how we acted, the words we said, and what role we had in their lives.

It was comforting to read.
Because it's the truth.



I hope I'll be a loving person more than a lovely face to someone.