For the past four years, I’ve pondered how my daughter, Lily, will ever repay me for the grueling forty-two hours of labor I endured to bring her into the world. Surprisingly, the answer struck me at the grocery store checkout line. Spotting a glamorous magazine featuring a stunning actress, Lily exclaimed, “Mommy, she looks just like you!”
You know those cinematic moments when time seems to freeze, and everything around you becomes a blur? That’s how it felt as Lily’s bright green eyes sparkled with delight while she flashed me a huge grin. “Oh, really? She’s very beautiful,” I replied, slightly embarrassed. With that radiant smile, Lily led the way, and I felt as if I were floating on a cloud. She may have a peculiar way of processing visuals, but in that moment, we were even.
Of course, I bear no resemblance to that actress. The only shared features are my short hair and brown eyes, and I certainly don’t share her ethnicity. But kids often generalize in ways that can be amusing or, at times, cringe-worthy.
For instance, the other night, I sauntered to the dining table looking less than glamorous. Lily, perhaps fueled by a subconscious grudge over my refusal to let her bring her toy princess purse to dinner, turned to me and said, “You look very handsome tonight, Mommy.” My partner, Alex, quickly corrected her with a playful, “You mean ‘Mommy is so pretty.’”
“No, she’s handsome,” Lily insisted, a cheeky grin spreading across her face.
This isn’t the first time she’s offered me such charming compliments. “Mommy, your tummy isn’t as flat as mine,” and “Look, Mommy, you have a little shadow on your upper lip!” I thought I had endured enough awkward comments back in college when that guy at the library told me my legs looked “chickeny.” But here we are again, folks—back in the ring, grappling with the unfiltered truth that children so easily deliver.
Lily, full of youthful confidence, has yet to experience the insecurities that come with adulthood. With her shiny auburn hair and flawless porcelain complexion, she turns heads in the grocery store. “What an angel!” the elderly ladies coo. “A living angel!”
And here I am, dragging the “angel” and my not-so-perky breasts down the aisle to purchase some overpriced yogurt. Despite the physical changes from having three kids—twins included—I’ve reached a level of body acceptance I never thought possible. Perhaps it’s because I no longer feel the need to impress anyone. I know Alex is stuck with me and our little crew, so I’m not on the hunt for admirers anymore. My self-worth has shifted away from appearances.
If only I could tame Lily’s candid observations. Last summer, she even asked if I “remembered fossils.” Kids have a unique way of stripping away the layers of societal expectations and revealing the world as it truly is. We’ve all experienced those moments when, after reading a story about an endangered animal, our child innocently questions why anyone would harm another living being simply for not being perfect. Their clarity is refreshing!
I often take pride in demonstrating acceptance to my children, hoping they’ll reflect that understanding in their lives. Just this morning, I thought I saw that in Lily’s face as she looked at me with pure love and no judgment. Then she casually remarked, “Mommy, your breath smells like a litter box.”
Well, that’s it. I’m drafting her a bill for my labor and delivery services right now.