I have grey hair. And wrinkles. A back that’s often just a twinge away from hurting. A shoulder that clicks when I turn my head just so.
I have dry skin on my elbows and my heels. Teeth full of fillings. Only one ovary left.
I have a bread dough middle, a few extra pounds, hollow breasts.
I have 40 years behind me. Forty years as a daughter, granddaughter, niece. I have 34 years of shared sisterhood. Thirteen lucky years of loving my Sweetie. Eight years of being a mother to a son. Seven years mothering a daughter. Four years as a mother to three. And to sisters.
I have words. Ideas. Creativity.
Chaos. Inspiration. Fear.
Frustration. Exasperation. Salvation.
I have thick hair. A smile. A body that allows accomplishment and enjoyment.
I have exactly what I wanted. And more than I ever knew I could want.
I have this.