As of about 2 months ago, my astounding wife, Erica, is officially done with breastfeeding. Not because she wanted to be, but because our youngest child woke up on a Tuesday morning, smiled at Mommy, and turn her chubby cheek. Done. Finished. Not one cry, one pout, or a single whine for the boob. Not to mention later that day Mommy developed a horrible 2 week curse of Mastitis. “Joy toooo the world, her boob nearly exploded.”

Within the past 10 years of our marriage she’s been pregnant for three years, nursed our babies for four years, and nursed our second child for four months WHILE pregnant with our third.  Yeah, I know that’s a lot to take in. But like any pro, she’s endured it effortlessly. So as most people would tell you (especially any woman) seven years of that would leave an evident mark on a person’s body. Well, you’d be right. But I definitely don’t see my wife’s body the way she sees it. Here’s what I see from my side.

She sees wrinkles on her face, crow’s feet, and puffy eyes. – I see the perfect smile that put those wrinkles there. I see those baby blue eyes that light up when she picks the kids up from school. And puffy eyes? Psssh, all I see is the priceless investment of time she gives this family every day, taking its toll on a tired mommy.

She sees makeup left over from the day before, or the day before that. – I see her looking just as perfect with it, as she does without it. Even if it is from last Tuesday.

She sees her feet as needing to be airlifted to the nearest nail salon. While I do see that a little bit, I also see a mom who puts her family first, putting miles per day on those tiny feet. Taking care of business. She’s not worried about or interested in the latest nail trend or getting fancy pedicures. Plus, I can do one heck of a pedicure. Cancel that airlift.

She sees stretch marks that expand for miles, while I see the proof that she brought four tiny lives into this world. Earning every one. Marks of life, love, and achievement. I love them. They remind me every day of the absolute warrior I married. She went to battle, and she conquered.

She sees her unruly hair. I see her unruly hair. But that sleepy smile dissolves those rowdy strands.

She sees her whiskery legs. I will see them again in summer. Until then, we’ll keep each other warm in the winter.

She sees the size of her pants and shirts. I see the size of her heart, and her faith.

She sees the weight we’ve both gained over the course of our life together. I see contentment, satisfaction, and happiness. Even though we do eat whatever the kids don’t eat so nothing goes to waste. We owe it to the food to be eaten, right?

She sees boobs that need a lift. I see the very source that sustained life for all those years. I see the breasts that soothed tired babies, filled empty stomachs, and leaked in the middle of Costco. I also see boobs.

She sees me, accepts me, and knows every part of me. She even sees things that can’t be seen; only felt, yet somehow can do both.

She sees the light at the end of every tunnel, the repeat after every wash and rinse, and the tantrums before they even start.

She’s as real as it gets.

She is my anchor, my life savings, and my ultimate retirement plan.

She’s my good side. The one I’d rather everyone see.

My side of the story is her.