An ode to my body, inspired by Twink

Warning. Extensive navel-gazing ahead. I mean it. Really. Read on at your own risk.
Someone told me the other day about the struggles her daughter was having about hitting puberty, and I started thinking about my own struggles at that age. How I felt like I didn't fit in because I wasn't blonde, tan, thin and pretty. How much fun I avoided so I wouldn't have to be seen in a bathing suit in front of the senior guys on the swim team. How much time and angst and emotion I spent by sitting in front of the mirror lamenting zits or freckles or how my mall bangs weren't tall enough or how I was too fat for Guess jeans.
What a waste.
I am 36 years old. I am not perfect. I am shorter than I'd like, chubbier than I'd like. Wrinkly. Freckly. Dry and oily at the same time. (Damn you, t-zone.) My knees hurt, my belly jiggles, I don't floss.
I don't really care.
My feet and legs carry me down the street, up the hiking trail, running around the park. My ears hear all the music I love, and my throat and mouth and lips and tongue belt it back out again, with varying degrees of success. (Bug says, "No Mama, I don't want any singing today" or "Please say that louder Mama, I like it") My eyes caress the people I love. They fill up and overflow with love, with anger, with sadness and with more happiness than I thought was possible. I carried two babies in this body. I carry them still. My arms can't do many pushups, but they hold my son when he's waking up in the morning and snuggling in my lap. They hug the friends who are having a bad day. My hands are rough because they help me climb the slide with the baby, and they cook dinner, and they make sweaters and scarves for kids who don't have other hands knitting for them. I write highly technical documentation with this brain. I make seriously low-class innuendos with the same organ. I like rhinestones and glitter but I hate pink. I straddle the Virgin/Whore paradox without much thought because, really, who cares? I don't fit in, I am not fashionable, I am not perfect. Never will be. But I am me, and life is good.
Love you, Twink.