Becoming a parent is such a miraculous, surreal experience. I’ve given birth to and raised four children, and the whole concept still amazes me. There is something so magical and bewildering about watching your children grow up and evolve into adults. It’s also very bittersweet. When they’re small, we generally feel as though we are able protect them from most things, as we have more control over their environment and the things to which they are exposed. As they grow and begin to explore the world around them, they gradually become more independent and increasingly vulnerable to the traumas that life can bring. If we could only keep them small, or “squish them down”, as my husband and I have always said, and protect them forever. But that isn’t possible, and we wouldn’t get to witness all of the beautiful and exciting stages they go through, their achievements, and experience what it’s like to have adult children, which, for us, has been pretty darn cool. I adore them. Each and every one of them. And when they were quite small, I realized that some of the traits which they inherited from me that I did not love about myself were somehow more beautiful and acceptable in my children. Seeing myself in them while observing their innocence, unfiltered emotions and uninhibited spirits and sense of self taught me to love myself a bit more, and it also made me hope for them that no matter what happened to them in the world, they would not let it change them, or allow it to make them feel as though they had to change in order to accommodate the world around them or someone else’s expectations as to who they should be. I want them to always know that they will be “Beautiful to Me”, just the way they are.