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I Wished My Daughter Would Be Beautiful
I wished for my daughter to be beautiful. I even sent a little prayer to the universe for her to have golden locks, striking blue or green eyes, a dazzling smile, and an adorable nose. I’d rub my belly and chant “Gigi Hadid.” Growing up in Northern California, where golden-haired beauties flourished, I often felt like a fish out of water. As a first-generation American with European roots, I inherited bold, angular features that set me apart. Standing tall with dark hair and broad shoulders, I was that girl who always got cast as the villain in school plays. I endured taunts about looking “too Jewish,” was told I was too ugly for school, and faced the typical teenage cruelty that echoed through the halls. The ‘90s beauty standard was brutal—everyone on TV was flawless, from models with perfect noses to actresses with silky blonde hair.
After high school, I tried desperately to fit that mold. I dyed my hair blonde, decked myself out in pink, and mastered the art of self-tanner. I slimmed down to a size 4 and rocked what the MAC makeup artist called “glamorous gloss.” I was well into my 20s before I learned to embrace my unique looks, seeing my “flaws” as features that made me stand out.
I always envisioned having two kids—a girl and a boy—so I was overjoyed when the doctor revealed we were expecting a daughter. Little did I know, this news would unearth my insecurities about appearance. As we drove home, I squeezed my husband’s hand and said, “You’ll be an amazing dad. I hope she’s healthy, strong, and a total handful like you.” He responded, “I hope she’s brave, funny, and looks just like you.” His words shocked me, and I snapped back, “No! Please, not like me!”
Eventually, guilt crept in for being so fixated on my daughter’s looks. I reached out to some of my close blonde friends, and to my surprise, they shared their own insecurities. One admitted she never recognized her beauty, often calling herself “the ugly one.” Another felt an immense burden to be perfect due to constant compliments. I realized that even the most beautiful people carry their own doubts.
And then came my wish come true. My daughter is vibrant, intelligent, hilarious, and, yes, a strong-willed little firecracker. She’s also petite, with golden hair and enchanting blue eyes that make strangers stop us on the street to comment on her looks. I adore her just the way she is, and the best part? She doesn’t look anything like me.
Raising a “pretty girl” presents its own set of challenges. While I think she’s the most beautiful person on Earth, inside and out, I know I’ll need to help her navigate insecurities and confidence. I hope she learns to appreciate beauty in others and never feels the need to compare herself. I teach her to stand up against comments based on appearances, as I’ve realized that the pressure of beauty can be overwhelming. I’ve read various articles on the importance of focusing on intelligence and creativity rather than looks (which I do), but I still tell her she’s beautiful every day. I want her to recognize that beauty goes beyond the surface.
After spending so much energy wishing for my daughter to be outwardly beautiful, I’ve come to understand that she would have shone bright even if she shared my features.
If you’re interested in more discussions on home insemination and pregnancy, check out this related post on our blog. For those considering the journey of parenthood, you can also learn about the latest trends in artificial insemination kits here. It’s an excellent resource for anyone exploring their options.
Summary: The author reflects on her obsession with beauty for her daughter, revealing her own insecurities and the societal pressures of appearance. Through conversations with friends, she learns that beauty doesn’t guarantee confidence. As her daughter grows up, the author hopes to instill self-love and resilience, recognizing that true beauty comes from within.