Mirrors are hard when you're pregnant. As the months go by it becomes harder and harder to not walk past a mirror and wonder whether you will ever see your old self again. The woman that didn't have stretch marks, expanded hips, a giant belly, and circles under her eyes because she can't seem to sleep longer than three hours without having to go to the bathroom. This last month has been especially disheartening. Getting ready in the morning had started to become my least favorite part of the day because it involved the bathroom mirror. Horrible mirror.
Until the other day, when I woke up and went into the bathroom for my first encounter with the mirror for the day. I took a deep breath, preparing for the sad sigh to follow, walked through the door, and stopped, startled at what I found. During the night, Fabio had written all over the mirror with dry erase markers reasons he loved me. The sigh still came, but it was one of relief and love instead. I didn't even notice the circles as I brushed my teeth, or the stretch marks as I changed my clothes. I was way too busy greedily reading over and over again the little messages of love that stood between me and the reflection I hardly recognize these days.
This morning I woke up and marched confidently into the bathroom, eager for what is now my favorite part of the day: the part where I'm greeted with reminders of who I really am written all over my mirror. Fabulous mirror.
Thanks, Fabio. That was just what I needed.