I won't let it get to my head,
but I've had lots and lots and lots of compliments this week. Ladies of varying ages have told me that I look like a celebrity, a person you'd see on TV, and a movie star. They've told me my hair is lovely, beautiful, gorgeous. My MK Director, Tammy, stopped in her busy conversation tracks to say "Qait, you look really beautiful."
Please don't think I'm on a boasting rampage--
The best thing about all of these compliments is that I said "thank you" honestly, and I really felt beautiful. FELT it. Inside, unstoppably, goodly so. Even better is that I still feel that way, with my dirty hair frizzed on one side from chilling on the floor with Ender. Even while I sit here in a gargantuan sweater and cutoff sweats. This week, somehow, I've been able more than ever to forgive my stretch marks and extra post-baby skin. I've even been able to ignore the manly hairs infesting my legs for lack of time to shave!
Michael always makes me feel beautiful. On another dimension, however, it's really nice to look nice to other people, too. Especially when I'm trying not to be absorbed with the details only I know, such as:
"but this is towel hair,"
"my mascara is a day old,"
"this outfit is totally thrown together last minute"
and "but I have this mammoth zit blaring in your face like a stop sign, don't you see it?"
I think this plethora of compliments have come as a confidence booster when I've been feeling so sick I'm paranoid I'm pregnant and as tired as someone with mono. Why is moving so hard? Why am I exhausted from the first blink of the day till the last?
So you see, it's a really nice blessing that other people have been so kind and gracious to me when I've felt...you know...it's welcomingly unusual to feel pretty in sweats.