Yesterday, my son climbed on my lap, held my face in his hands and said, “You are so, so, so, so pretty”. This was no ordinary compliment, considering it came from the kid who is usually commenting on someone’s most unattractive qualities.
It was also remarkable because I don’t feel pretty much these days. Granted, there was a time when I looked all right. But, what once was gangly is now pudgy, what was firm is now wrinkled, what was straight is now slouched, and what was smooth is now scarred. I work out, I take my vitamins, I try to eat right, I’ve even been sleeping better, but I will never have what I once did.
I’m at an age where a minute in the sun seems to add a new wrinkle, and when my dermatologist gets ahold of me, she chops moles off like she’s a butcher…always leaving mangled marks along the way. I rarely feel comfortable leaving the house without make-up, and more often than not, I’ll don a hat and sunglasses before taking the kids to school.
My hair never looks quite right, and clothes don’t fit like they used to. My bra deserves overtime pay for all the work it has to do. I’m a Mom, I’m nearing 40, I don’t have the time or energy it takes to make myself look attractive.
But, in the eyes of my five year old, I’m pretty…and that’s good enough for me.