There will come a time in her life when she doesn’t like her hair. It will be too straight or too curly. She’ll think she’s too fat. Or too skinny. She’ll believe her smile is too big or her eyes are too small. She’ll wish she were taller. Shorter. Bigger, smaller. She’ll have zits which she’ll curse. She’ll believe her freckles are ugly. She’ll wish she had longer eyelashes or bigger feet. She’ll want a smaller stomach and bigger boobs. She’ll want to be stronger. She’ll think she needs to be prettier. She’ll want to look like someone else. She’ll try to look like someone else.
I’ve been there. And she’ll get there too. Despite my every grasping effort to stop her from coming to that time in her life, I know, she’ll get there. Despite whispering in her ear repeatedly how perfect I think she is. Despite calling her “pretty” and “cutie” and “beautiful” all the live long days. Despite telling her how much I love her curly hair, small feet and big smile. Despite it all, the above will be our reality. Someday.
Until then, I’m basking in this:
Her unabashed love for herself. A nightly routine of kissing herself in our mirror for upwards of fifteen minutes at a time. If I could pocket this self-love and save it for that time, I would. In a heartbeat.
I’ll always think she’s beautiful, cute and pretty. I’ll always think she’s perfect. Unfortunately, inevitably, someday, she won’t. On that day, I’ll bring her back to this picture and remind her to give herself a few kisses in the mirror every now and then.