Whoever said that perfection is a wondrous thing has never met a real woman. Today as I tried to relax in the bathtub(made it 2 minutes before the first knock on the bathroom door came!), I took a good long look at all of the new scars that have suddenly and not so suddenly invaded by skin.
First there are the tiny blood vessels, mostly on my upper left thigh. And then there are the stretch marks that have left their marks from pregnancy. All the way from my tummy to my hips and thighs. And finally there are permanent razor burn looking dots all over my legs which do nothing at all for my already dry skin. And then I realized, I am far from perfect. Yet, these are the scars that prove I exist in this insane world and that I have lived life.
While not every mark has to be left in order to prove that we exist, not ever little
imperfection means that we are less than perfect either. For me, I would much rather have lived than look like a plastic doll that had no life at all.