It has only taken 35 years for me to begin to be comfortable with me. Although I'm not completely sure who I am (I believe it changes, so I suppose I never will be), I am becoming more sure of who I am not. And for once I'm ok with that.
For example, I am not a size 4. Those days are gone. They were good, but oh well.
I'm also not one of those super-trendy moms that can co-ordinate colors and always knows what looks good. I'd like to be, but I'm not. That is why the majority of my wardrobe is black and most of the walls in my house are still the same "apartment cream" they were when we moved in seven years ago.
I'm not someone who always has their points and reasons together the first time I say something. This is my disclaimer for all following posts. Sometimes I get a thought, spit it out and then spend the rest of the day wondering what I meant by that or did that come out right? And since I had kids, I can't come up with a 3-syllable word to save my life.
There are lots of other things I am not, but I am sure you will figure those out if you read anything else I post, as we say in the South, "Bless your heart!"