My nearly three-year-old daughter, Lily, is undeniably beautiful—not just because she is my child, but because she possesses a natural charm. Her flowing brown hair could easily grace the cover of a shampoo advertisement, and her bright hazel eyes coupled with an infectious smile capture the attention of everyone around her. I’ve noticed strangers smile at her in public, drawn to her unique features and the quirky outfits she insists on wearing.
However, Lily’s radiant beauty is somewhat overshadowed by a prominent vascular birthmark, known as a hemangioma, located on the right side of her buttocks and upper thigh. What began as a faint bruise at birth has developed into a sizable mark, complicated further by a severe ulceration she experienced at four months old. While these marks typically fade with age, Lily is still young, and during the summer months—when she dons her pink polka dot swimsuit—it becomes more visible to others.
Our family and friends have become accustomed to her birthmark, having witnessed its growth alongside her. They occasionally inquire about it but generally regard it as a normal part of who she is. Yet, during a recent visit to a water park, I was struck by the looks of confusion and pity from strangers who were unaccustomed to seeing a toddler with such a noticeable mark.
As I watched Lily joyfully splash around, calling for her baby brother, I found myself unable to fully enjoy the moment. I noticed a woman glance at Lily’s birthmark with a frown as if it were something to be ashamed of. I should have shouted, “She’s perfect just the way she is!” Instead, I found myself adjusting her swimsuit to cover her birthmark out of my own anxiety. As we walked around the park, I felt a sense of dread because her birthmark was visible, inviting judgment from onlookers.
It suddenly occurred to me that my worries were rooted in my own insecurities. I was being self-conscious for someone who couldn’t even comprehend the concept of being self-conscious. Lily was blissfully unaware of others’ perceptions, so why was I so preoccupied? She was focused on imaginary crocodiles, while I fixated on what I assumed others were thinking about her appearance.
I want Lily to grow up confident in her own skin and to develop a healthy body image. This journey begins with how I respond to her uniqueness. Children, including my daughter, thrive when they are celebrated for their differences, whether that be a birthmark or any other characteristic. For some kids, it may be a diagnosis like autism; for others, it may be a disability. I am grateful that Lily’s difference is benign, yet I grapple with the notion of how others might perceive it.
However, I realize now that I do not owe anyone an explanation about her birthmark. Society should not apply the same standards of beauty to children as it does to celebrities in the media. Lily is an enchanting child, and I must embrace her as she is, without attempting to hide what makes her unique.
Moving forward, I will no longer cover her birthmark or monitor how others react to it. Such behavior could only instill insecurity in a child who simply wants to enjoy life. Lily is innocent, happy, and confident, and I will do everything in my power to nurture those qualities.
To outsiders, her birthmark may seem alarming or provoke confusion. But to me, it signifies her uniqueness, making her the most perfect little girl in her pink polka dot swimsuit.
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Summary:
The author reflects on her self-consciousness regarding her daughter Lily’s birthmark, realizing that her insecurities were affecting Lily’s confidence. She resolves to embrace Lily’s uniqueness and foster a positive self-image, recognizing that to others, her birthmark may seem unusual, but to her, it represents her beauty.