(Source: mountaintalk, via moonandtrees)

"Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, the not-yet, and the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists.. it is real.. it is possible.. it’s yours."

— Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged (via observando)

(via okbrittanyt)

prettie-sweet:

(via ebanista)
taaylow:

ok, fine. 

taaylow:

ok, fine. 

(Source: choriflaiweb, via bunburysbees)

(Source: neekaisweird, via moonandtrees)

"

Before I became pregnant, someone told me, “don’t have a baby, babies ruin your body.”

It has been over a year since Anabel began her life. This time last year she was a microscopic speck in my stomach, and we were announcing our pregnancy. Between then and now, I have gained and lost fifty pounds. Four months after her birth, and my body still carries proof of her existence.

I have dark pools under my eyes. A valley where my belly button once was. Hips with a new amplitude that my teenage self wouldn’t recognize. I have lines mapped across the mountains of stretched skin left over on my midsection. Lightening bolts on my sides proving I once was too small to contain all of the love that filled me. Lines indicating that my daughter once lived inside of me.

Do you realize the significance in that? Every limb, finger, toe…her heart, even, developed near the very place my own heart beats inside of my chest. Those mountains of skin are all I have left to prove that we were once one and not two.

How can I be ashamed of that?

I have so much to say about seeing my grandfather’s eyes embedded into the sockets, and under the brows and lashes of her father’s. I see the seventeen year old boy I fell in love with, and my grandpa as a child all at once every time she looks up at me. She even wears my ears and my chin. The two very things I cursed having the most growing up. Not much makes me feel more beautiful than seeing tiny renditions of those same features on Anabel, and realizing just how special they are.

My body grew that.
Not everybody has that privilege.

Sure my belly is a bit softer nowadays, but the way it moves when I jump up and down sends my girl into fits of giggles. And yeah, my hips are hardly as narrow as they used to be, but they sure know the perfect figure-8 motion to sway her to sleep. My twenty-one year old hair is even beginning to gray, but not much soothes her more than my hair between her tiny fingers.

I am not something flawless in the eyes of society, or even close to what I once was physically, but my perfect girl sees me for who I am. To her, I hang the moon. She knows my heart. She knew it long before we met.

And she loves me for it.

I cannot tell you how much worth and validation I feel because of that truth.

My body is only a vessel for my spirit. An incredible vessel. It is strong, well, abled, and undefeated.

My body is full of life.
My body is powerful.
My body made me a mother.

If anything, I was ruined by the world before I knew her & she made me whole

"

http://weseekjoy.blogspot.com/2013/12/babies-ruin-bodies.html?m=1 (via mommyisafangirl)

(via beeslikehoney)

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."

— T. Roosevelt (via cookedheads)

(Source: tracycartmell, via bunburysbees)

(Source: ioluli, via crushculdesac)

prettie-sweet:

(via NO HOME WITHOUT YOU)