I know how to make homemade playdough, build the best forts. I race matchbox like a pro, have the best Choo Choo sound around, and have built some pretty great Chima Legos. I have seen every Veggie Tale movie, can belt out any Disney song, and know how to shake my thang to Raffi. I despise The Wiggles, Spongebob, and Yo Gabba Gabba. I know how to sing the abcs, twinkle twinkle and every other nursery song imaginable and I have made up countless versus to nursery songs to keep them going long enough for tiny little eyes to close. I can recite Goodnight Moon, The Going to Bed Book, and On The Night You Were Born. I know the theme songs for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Power Rangers, and Curious George to name a few. I am fun.
I have stretch marks snaking my belly, an extra 5 lbs on my hips, spider veins on my legs. I’m lucky to get a shower long enough to shave, never mind actually getting lucky enough to shower. I have bags under my eyes and constantly have my hair pulled back in a ponytail. And after nursing 3 kids well, my boobs have shrunk to nothing. I have been peed on, pooped on and thrown up on. Yet, I am beautiful.