75% perfection

I have struggled with my weight for almost as long as I think I even knew weight existed, that it was a number to track. From puberty forward (and depending on how you define that, maybe longer), I cannot remember a moment in my life when my weight wasn't either too much and needed to be less, or it was OK, but just teetering there, waiting for my misstep. 
I don't know which is worse -- yearning for it or living with the pressure to hold onto it. 
 
This is not unlike a lot of people. 
My story isn't unique. 
I can tell you about the light-hearted joke, that I might not fit in a convertible in a certain pair of shorts. 
Or the boys who tauntingly called me Miss Piggy throughout middle school.
Or the shame changing in a locker room. Or the fear of wearing a swim suit at a pool party. Or not going to a pool party because I would have to wear a swim suit. Or the freshman 15(ish). 
Or  a million sideways glances in a mirror, wishing for a different sort of reflection. 
I can tell you all these things and they don't make me special. 
These wounds don't set me apart.
I only wish that what I do with them brings me peace. 

Peace, I do not yet have. 

Currently, at the back end of two very stressful and intense, back to back, initiations into motherhood, I am trying to claw my way back. 
I ate myself through those months of newborness. And then the months turned to years. One baby cried, and I ate Moe's. Another baby wouldn't sleep and I baked cakes & ate them and licked the frosting off the beaters. One toddler still won't sleep, and I am eating bowls of pasta.

Healthy living has always been a passion of mine. Nutrition, clean eating, exercise.  Clearly, I have not always been able to hold myself to the standards I might idolize. 
Today, while I put away my organic co-op share and planned healthy meals for my family, I ate three oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. All this while I was still in my sweaty workout clothes. 75% success? Am I at peace with 75%?

Obviously not. 

I want it all. I want to like what I see in the mirror and what I put on my plate. I want to not think about either one. 
I don't think that is in my future. Ever. 
 
A wise friend of mine told me tonight that we have to do what makes us happy. 
And I guess that what makes us happy doesn't necessarily make us perfect --

Leaving me continuing to struggle to find the balance between health and happiness. 
I see that in my future. Forever. 

Every. Single. Thing.

I love them every day.
Some days, it just overwhelms me.
Today it was Rebecca, yesterday it was her brother. Every day it is a joy to be their mother.

I love her persistence and determination.
How she will work at a task, despite failure at first attempts --- putting on her socks, a dress, opening and pouring her own milk.
The same persistence and determination that aids in getting her way long after a 'no' has been delivered.
How she remains calm within herself as she works towards something, not letting the challenges fluster her.

I love her strength and endurance.
Pedaling her tricycle up the hilly driveway, without a push, maneuvering it carefully so it will ride over every bump and crack along the way.
Running the last quarter mile of  a run alongside me. Steady, smiling.
Pushing her brother in a toy car, uphill, laughing.
Riding her scooter in her princess heels.

I love her spirit. 
Getting out of the stroller to run with me & telling him, "when you get bigger you can run with mommy too." Then kissing his knees before setting off.
Reciting lines of her favorite stories out loud as we stroll through Whole Foods - "Look out Tommy you are going to hit the floor! 'Ouch' said Tommy."
Singing made up songs about whatever she is doing or imagining doing at the moment.

I love her. Every. Single. Thing. 

I am not sure how I ended up with the privilege of being her mother. But I sure am going to cherish it.