This year, I resolve to love myself the way my children love me.

They don't see stretch marks, or a little extra cushion around my midsection. They see the person they snuggle up with to read stories, and rest their head on when they are sick. They look at me and see comfort.

They don't care if I am dressed to the nines in new expensive shoes for a fancy night out or if I am in pajama pants covered in spit up with my hair in a ponytail. They look at me and see beauty.

They don't care if we are eating at a nice restaurant, having leftovers, or getting take-out after I burn something in the Instant Pot (they probably weren't going to eat it anyway). They know they will be cared for.

They don't know the mom guilt I have being a working mom. Their eyes light up when I come home after work. They don't resent me for leaving, they love me for coming home. They look at me and see consistency.

They don't care if we have a full day of Pinterest inspired crafts and activities or if we make shadow puppets against the laundry room door. They look at me and see fun.

They don't know that they didn't create a Picasso, or sound like Beethoven. They proudly show off their newest skills and look at me and feel accomplished.

They don't care if I am rushing them out the door because we are already 15 minutes late or if I am buckling them in their car seats while I stuff winter jackets in the trunk of the car. They look at me and see safety.

They don't care what emotions the day has brought. They have seen me lose my patience, they have seen me yell, they have seen me cry, they have seen me anxious, and tired and they have seen me fail time and time again. They look at me with so much love and see mom. They look at me and see home.