I'm not sure how my husband knows what I need to hear. Even when I don't know. Because most days the last thing I think about is whether or not I'm beautiful. But in case I'd forgotten, somewhere in the midst of the stretch marks, the leaky boobs, the not-so-toned tummy, the perpetual presence of slobber or spit up, with one boob hanging out constantly it seems, where it is easy to find yourself just managing to tread water in the sea of parenting, he's there to remind me. He's there to remind me that beauty is more than whether or not my hair has seen something other than a lazy ponytail or if I ever managed to put on a "real" shirt on top of my nursing tank. He can somehow see it when I can't.
And it can be hard to see when you're 22-going-on-23 and proud as heck to be a mom, but at the same time trying so hard to be a mom who has it together and at least looks like some thought might have gone into her appearance even if it didn't or barely crossed her mind. As I juggle a baby who only likes being snuggled and keeping up with laundry (both clothes and diapers) as well as managing to eat on a semi-regular basis. As I try to remind myself that being a mom and sitting down and feeding Saoirse is being productive and not me sitting on my butt and playing on my iPad for the 45 minutes it can take her. It can be really hard to even believe the adjective 'beautiful' could apply to my person at times like these.
But I guess that's what I have an awesome guy like him for. A great husband and dad.