So am I the only girl who doesn't smell like flowers?

One nice thing about being pregnant is the sense of community among the, um, afflicted. Gestators and those recently relieved of the condition readily dole out stories about strange physical behaviors of a body that is no longer controlled by our sentient brain. We also understand the financial burden of a wardrobe of elastic waistband pants can be substantial. Maternity clothes get passed from woman to woman - at least in my neck of the woods - with little regard for who is getting what clothes and how they will be returned. Most of the people who have shared something with me have recently finished their final (planned) pregnancy and only care that the clothing that they no longer need will be passed on to a deserving soul when it has served its purpose.

Two lovely ladies, pcosmama and a lovely lady from playgroup, have bequested maternity clothing of some sort to me. It is generous and thoughtful, the very sort of thing that saves me not only money but a trip to the store where I have to try on clothing when I'm feeling rotund. Here's the thing: both sets of clothes have smelt like flowers. It's a lovely scent, but I can't wear it all day when pregnant and my skin can't take any sort of fabric softener with scent ever. I washed the clothes and it's all good. The only thing that is weird is that I know that pcosmama uses the same kind of detergent and fabric softener sheets that I do and my clothes don't smell like a florist shop. Maybe I am the only girl that doesn't smell like flowers.

Labels: baby '08, deep thoughts

Perfection

I know that no one is perfect. Our bodies are inherently flawed and our learned behavior is only as good as that of our teachers and our own understanding of their instruction. That said, I think that each of us is perfect in our own way.

I read this post over at (This) Girl's Gone Child the other day and it got me thinking about a theory of perfection that I have been mulling over since high school.

While we are all in need of improvement - body, mind or soul - each person is their own form of perfection. They are perfect in the fact that they can never be exactly duplicated. An imitator can never perfectly be whom they wish to imitate, for at the heart of what we truly are, no one - save God - can ever really know of us. Cellular nuances that cannot be duplicated by modern science; mannerisms that can be copied but the actual motivation behind them unable to be fully known by another person; our deepest and truest thoughts that even the most eloquent person finds impossible to voice in a way that can convey the actual meaning and emotion. These individualities and flaws - our very imperfections - are what make us perfectly unique.

Though we change and grow, we are perfect each and every day. GGC has recognized this in her son who, at two years old, still doesn't speak at all. He is not only perfectly unique in his own right, but is perfectly his mother's son. I find it truly amazing and freeing to think that I can be perfection to someone else and that others can be perfection to me. J is my perfect husband. The boy is my perfect first child. I hope for them I can be the wife and mother they need me to be. In this case, "good enough" seems to equal perfection. Cool.

Labels: deep thoughts