It's on like Donkey Kong

I'm declaring war on a poor body image. For far too long, I've picked apart my appearance with the precision of the two plastic surgeons from Nip/Tuck. My talented cousin Erica took this photo at Jack's baptism, and in my mind I zone in on these huge bags under my eyes (I've always had them - it's not just a "tired new parent thing"), the acne scars from first trimester on my cheek, and some crazy rolls on my neck. This is how my mind processes the photo:

Then I took a look at the whole picture, and noticed what a little cutie Jack is.

Then I looked at his eyes. The adorable little apple of my eye has the same bags under his. Why is it that I can love everything about him, but dislike the same thing on me?

I'm over thinking like that, and am done doing it. My body grew and produced a delightful little cherub and birthed him without using medication. The LEAST I could do is give my body a break and celebrate it rather than constantly put it down.