“Mama, you are so pretty in that shirt,” I turned to look at where the voice had come from and saw Briar. I had known it was her talking, but the words were so out of context with how I was feeling. Her lips were turned up in the sweetest little smile and her eyes danced, happy.
“Thank you, sweet love,” I said smiling at her. My smile was genuine, my face calm, but my insides were racing. I’d gone through the morning bedraggled, stretched out pajama bottoms hanging from my frame, a t-shirt with just a tank top underneath, and my hair doing that 40-something, morning halo of kinks. The bags under my eyes taunt me, even after a night of more than 8 hours I can look like it’s finals week and I have the flu.
“Your face looks really pretty right now too, mama,” she was nodding and kicking her feet in her chair. I laughed out loud, which made her beam even brighter.
“Wow, honey, that’s really, really sweet of you. I was feeling kind of messy,” I said. She shook her head and nibbled at her toast. I walked back into the kitchen to finish with lunches. My mind wandered as I spread mustard on wraps.
When exactly was it that I became ashamed of not being done up? Just the other day I confessed to other moms on twitter that despite wanting to not ram a superficial agenda for the girls, I yearn to be pretty for them. When Finley watches a performance and says, “Mama, that girl is so pretty,” a little flame of fear and defeat flickers. Am I not pretty enough? Does she wish I was prettier? It’s absurd, but it’s there.
I look at the girls in the morning and revel in their bed head and pillow wrinkles, always have. The slow process of their skin settling back into normal as they grow more alert is a delight. When I consider my own morning cycle it is nothing like that. It is all judgement and critique.
I look over at Briar who is now playing on Sean’s iPad, scrolling through pictures she and her sisters have taken with Photo Booth. They take these pictures to make themselves look silly, completely unafraid of being ‘not pretty’.
When does that go away? I wonder. My chest feels heavy thinking of them having days when the natural state of their face or hair makes them ashamed. Is it avoidable? Considering my own habits and tendencies, it occurs to me that maybe, like so much of what we are supposed to teach, there is no template, no surefire recipe for avoiding it. Perhaps like happiness, the harder you chase the perfect vision of contentment and acceptance, the more elusive it becomes. The best thing that I can do, for me, for the girls, for our whole little family, is look in the mirror and go about my day caring for myself as unconditionally as I do our girls.
“Hey B, you about ready to go to the bus?” I ask Briar.
“Sure, but do you think maybe you could drive me today and we could be together for a little more time?” She is wearing the leggings I bought her, birds running up and down her slender legs, a long tunic poking out from beneath the cardigan she sewed. I smile again.
“Of course, I’ll meet you downstairs.”
She pops out of the chair and darts off to grab her backpack as I look down at my pajama bottoms reconsidering how they look. Maybe this morning me is special because no one else sees her. Or maybe I do look pretty in this shirt. Could be that it has anything to do with shirts or hair, and way more to do with the way being with me feels. Briar makes me feel incredibly lucky and beautiful. She and her sisters help me see everything and everyone in new light.

Tagged: acceptance, body, daughters, feminism, life
Oh goodness, I love this, and it’s especially poignant right now as I oscillate between wanting to model for my daughter a mother who takes pride in taking care of herself and putting on a little blush and lipstick because it makes me feel better sometimes, more put-together and ready to face the day, and one who accepts myself full-stop, flaws and all. You are so right: when we try to see ourselves as they see us, we can be pretty in lipstick and also in faded t-shirts and stretched out yoga pants because it’s not really about any of that in the end, is it? It’s so much bigger and deeper than whatever presentation of pretty we wish to portray. Thank you for this reminder to start my week…
We all need these resets I think. I am so glad that the sentiment floated your way at the right time. You are so lovely.
I think you’re quite lovely as well. 😉
As the mom of a seven year old girl, I fervently hope that the “that” you describe never goes away for her. I so relate to this post, especially on a day where I dressed drably and like I’m going to turn over the garden beds (I’m not!) and my daughter told me I look pretty today. Hmmm…what special x-ray vision do children have and why can’t I seem to see the same things? I really, really get this one. And, on another note, because I can’t seem to figure out how to comment on Medium…wow, Amanda. I’m so sorry for what happened to you and the story you told the other night in the wake of this UVA story disaster. I really don’t know what else to say beyond that, other than that your bravery is immensely beautiful and inspiring. Thank you for it.
They are so dear. Although, I should say that there are other times when they comment on a blemish or a soft spot and it’s like, “Whoosh” air from tires 😉
As for Medium, it’s an interesting place. Not sure about comments. I wanted, needed, to put something out there. Thank you for taking the words in and being one more person considering the tricky, pain filled realm of survivors.
Ugh, right? I can be honest right now and say that 45 has not been kind to my face. I can’t even look in the mirror. But the reflection from my girls’ eyes tells a different story. xo
We’re going to smile and run right through it, right? Lead with laughter and love. xo
Isn’t it a “thing” to learn to let our kids’ compliments settle upon us? And to know how to accept them with grace and not with words that might, in turn, teach them to question their own beauty?
Basically, your post raises such good questions, and I really love how you bring us, the readers, into that morning with you. Thank you.
Of course I adore this post 🙂
I was just thinking about how to help my daughter with some of these things. I see how careful she is already to get ready to go out and I wonder/worry a bit.