I Am a Woman

So lately I've been reading, hearing, seeing on FB, when out, on blogs, seemingly wherever I go or read or look, huge surges against the Beauty of the Feminine: that looking like a woman because one is biologically so is narrow-minded and limiting. "My parents," read one comment on a blog post, "raised me to expect more from life than just being a mother."
just
Oh honey.
Here is my rough syllogism:
First, the ubiquitous, insidious lie that seemingly the entire society, right and left wing, secular or religious, liberal conservative homosexual straight--apparently EVERYONE--has bought: that if a man loves beauty, loves it, then he must be homosexual.
Following easily after this is that "real" men don't care about beauty, just Sex Appeal.
Therefore, to emphasize one's feminine beauty is to enslave oneself to man's sex drive . . . and its burdensome, hateful consequences: Motherhood.
Then, of course, this idea that our supposedly liberated, forward thinkers slip into every possible area of life, media, relationships, gender studies: that to include your body as part of your self, your ego or id or whatever, is to be limited. That who we are, who I am, is somehow separate from the physical space that my molecules occupy, apart from the organism that through breath, calories, rest, pain and pleasure keeps this nebulous "me" existing. But not in the physical sphere, of course--not unless it is to provide the ultimate amount of pleasure to that same organism, even though it has no role in defining who I am.
And the hatred, the incredible, vitriolic hatred, of motherhood! It strikes me, repeatedly, with no little amount of irony, that the strongest hatred of fertility comes from those who supposedly "revere" "Mother Earth."
Now that I am clearly pregnant with baby 3, and not just suspiciously pudgy around the middle, the looks I get are enough to destroy the confidence of a much stronger woman. I am not immune to these lies: learning the beauty and dignity of motherhood, both expectant and actual, has been a long, long road for me, one that I still am traveling.
Friends, Romans, Countryman, Enemies, Haters, lend me your ears:
I am a Woman.
I have a woman's body, a woman's physiognomy, a woman's hormonal balance.
My sexual organs are hidden, mysterious, a secret garden.
With no artificial devices or abuse of other body spaces, my body can join in perfect union and unity with a man's body--my husband.
This unity is not interrupted by chemicals, foreign objects, by a desire to keep my life for myself. I do not see, at all, how such artificial means, so obviously contrary to nature, are "liberating." I would rather be bound by my body than bound to a pill.
Rather, this unity has the potential to be fruitful, as all real, true love is.
NOTE: I am not saying that all real love will produce children. Plenty of couples have beautiful lives, love, and marriages and yet have not had, for whatever reason, children. What I am saying is that every unitive act has the potential to be fruitful. That is, it is not artificially intercepted from its natural end.
My body is capable of being the haven for new life. My body can create another human being, and bring it forth into the world. I am a co-creator! It is not a burden, it is a blessing!
Why do I have to be like a man, whose body does not bear the child, but is always fertile? Why must my womb be a curse because it keeps me from being more like a man, or more asexual? Why must my breasts be relegated to objects of lust?
They're not. My body can feed and nurture the child it brings forth, providing it with perfect simpatico nutrients, perfectly in tune with the changing needs of this growing child.
And these things are ME. I change with my children--not "just" my body, but who I am, grows and changes and stretches and aches and loves more and more and differently with each new person, and as each dependent baby becomes, already, daily, increasingly independent, unique, and self-sufficient. I am not less me because my days are lived for someone else.
They always are! If our days are not lived for those in our families, they are lived for someone else's agenda, someone else's program, someone else's priorities and money and ends.
I am not perfect just because I have children. HAH. But I am not inferior, either, for living with and in and through the natural functions of my body. I am no less woman because I strive to be beautiful as a woman. I am not lesser because I follow a natural order of biology and sociology.
I am a woman. I am a wife. I am a mother. I am not "just" any of those things. I am my self, body, mind and soul.
I am happy.
I am whole.