I LOVE my little finger.
I do, I really do.
It is one helluva powerful and hard-working part of me.
Like many women, whose bodies have the battle scars and wear and tear of childbearing, I struggle to LOVE much about my saggy, baggy, stretch-marked bits and pieces.
I KNOW I earned them all.
I KNOW how lucky I am to have produced, via natural child-birth, three totally awesome and amazing and gorgeous humans.
I KNOW that my partner doesn't care what my body looks like.
I KNOW that it's totally functional and at this stage still hasn't cracked up, in any major ways.
BUT...as we all know and understand, it just ain't that easy, for a lifetimes worth of reasons, to be 100% happy in our own skins.
It just gets totally deflating trying to tone muscles that have been overworked and over-stretched and to completely honest I've given up the fight. Although I must fess up here and admit I never really fought that hard ; )
But my little fingers?
ASTOUNDING AND OUTSTANDING
They can and do regularly carry the most incredible weight, and never give in or up.
It's a skill that I developed through the nightmare that is grocery shopping. A hideous chore made even more horrific when you chuck kid-wrangling in to the mix.
Sure you can get it all to your car in a trolley, but when you get home, no such wonky luxury.
SO, it's all fingers on deck, to tackle the mind-numbingly revolting chore of unloading the car and taking it inside and as I like to get it over and done with QUICKLY the pressure is on each one of them to perform.
Today as I carried in about 25 kilos worth of items, I looked at my little finger and thought "Look at you with 3 and a half kilos of weight just hanging off you there like no biggie".
Congratulations, often neglected, piece of my anatomy and Thank you.