Beauty And The Beholder.

I'm beautiful.

I know what you're thinking.  Stop it.  I'm beautiful.  I know it must be true because my daughter said so.

I've never been a big fan of the way I look.  Makeup every day.  Always fix(ish) my hair.  Clothes can't hug the wrong places.  These shoes with these pants.  Wear a dress and an apron.

My idea of beauty was skewed.

A few days ago, I was feeling particularly like Quasimodo.  I swear I noticed a hump on my back that Bird keeps telling me I'm imagining.  My hair was flat yet miraculously frizzy.  My nose was too big.  My eyes looked too small.  My makeup didn't cover the imperfections I loathed.  The shoulder of my shirt was covered in Eva crust, and my pants were members of the pajama family.  I wasn't Hot Mom.  I wasn't even in the Hot Mom zip code.

I was playing with Izzy and letting her climb on me.  It was a passive Mommy moment, really.  We tickled and laughed and hugged and all of a sudden, she threw her arms around my neck and said something, very much in passing, that I will never ever forget.

"You're the most beautiful girl there ever was."

And she kissed my cheek, and she was done.  Off she scampered, having no idea what she did.

Me?  I am the most beautiful girl there ever was?  I didn't correct her.  I couldn't- not because she wasn't wrong to you, but because she was right to her.  I...me...her mommy...is the most beautiful girl there ever was.

It literally took me days to really process what she said.  Those words have popped back into my mind like a relentless weed.  I didn't want to meditate on them.  I didn't want to ponder them.  They stung somehow.  I just kept thinking, "One day she'll realize..."

But then I thought of my mom, and I remembered that she's the most beautiful girl there ever was. (save maybe the two that have rooms in my house...)  So I prayed.  And I thanked God for the beauty Izzy sees with her heart.  I asked for forgiveness for it being a reflex to "correct" that.  Then I tried to see myself through her eyes.

After spending the last few days in the mind of my three year old, here is what I'd like you to know if you have a daughter (or even if you don't):
Your dresses are gowns.  They make you her queen.
Your shoes are magnificent and something she aspires to fill.
Your movements are something she studies, but she only sees the grace.
Your hair is amazing.  You're practically Rapunzel.
Your face is perfection- no eyeliner required.
Your smile is bright, and she will imitate it every chance you give her.

I might as well own my beauty because my sweet-hearted girl already does.

And I think you should own your's, too.  After all, you are the most beautiful girl there ever was.