I see you mama, and something about you has changed . . . 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen you more beautiful.

You may have forgotten this amidst the throes of motherhood and the new weights of responsibility, but I see you.

Your hair may not be straightened like it used to be, but you wear it like a crown above your head, large and messy and perfectly imperfect.

Your hands seem different, your nails might not be the pastel they used to be, but they’re warm and comforting; they’re stronger now since they hold the world.

Yes, your heart aches sometimes, but it’s never been so stretched or so swollen with love so of course it will ache sometimes.

You’ve always carried yourself well, but now you seem more womanly; stronger, yet beautifully vulnerable.

Your eyes are begging to see darkness for more than a couple of hours at a time, I know you’re tired, but they still shine—especially when you look at your miracle.

Your body may feel different, but under those baggy clothes is the greatest gift to you and to what you’ve created. It nurtures, it bends and breaks, it’s resilient, it’s exceptional.

You may be feeling lonely at times or tired of being at home, but you truly look beautiful here, like all of a sudden home has a new meaning. You are someone’s home.

Your smile has changed; it’s now one that knows things, the secrets of contentment.

The way you sit there holding your baby like he’s an extension of you, hopelessly entangled with one another—I’ve never seen anything so perfect.

I’m just so proud of you and how amazing you really are.

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