Pink tile from the seventies and the rush of fog over my face. The only time I am really alone with my body, naked in the shower. I rub my hand over my stomach- the stomach that I was proud of a year ago. The stomach that grew my favorite human, and that shows that struggle in the sag above my scar. I wonder to myself why it is taking me so long, why I don’t look at all like I used to. Why I can’t fit into any of my clothes. And as I squeeze the water out of my long ponytail- and am left with a hand full of hair- it hits me that beauty is fleeting. Why am I chasing something that, eventually, will always leave me anyways? This beautiful, thick hair that I grew while I was pregnant is now all falling out. And each year I gain new wrinkles, new grey hairs. Yet with those wrinkles, those grey hairs, comes wisdom, and freedom, and love. With each day that passes, each wrinkle I get, I learn how to be a better mother. A better wife, a better friend.