For the past four years, I’ve pondered a rather peculiar question: How will my daughter, Lily, ever repay me for the forty-two hours of excruciating labor I endured? As is often the case with children, the answer struck me unexpectedly while we were waiting in line at the grocery store.
Upon spotting a magazine cover featuring a glamorous celebrity, Lily blurted out, “Mommy, she looks just like you!” In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Lily’s bright blue eyes sparkled with delight as she beamed up at me.
“Oh, really? She’s quite beautiful,” I replied, trying to downplay it. Lily flashed her dazzling smile, and I floated out of the store, feeling on top of the world. Sure, she might have a unique way of perceiving visuals, but I felt we were even—at least for today.
Let’s be real: I don’t resemble that celebrity at all. The only similarities we share are short hair and brown eyes. And, of course, I’m not of her ethnicity. Yet kids often generalize in ways that can be quite amusing—or brutally honest.
Take, for instance, the other evening when I approached the dinner table looking a bit less than my best. Lily, clearly harboring some subconscious annoyance over my refusal to let her bring her princess purse to dinner, declared, “You look very handsome tonight, Mommy.”
My partner, Sarah, quickly chimed in with a sing-songy correction, “You mean ‘Mommy is so pretty!’”
“Nope, she’s handsome,” Lily insisted, grinning from ear to ear.
This isn’t the first time Lily has shared her unfiltered observations. Just the other day, she pointed out, “Mommy, your tummy isn’t as flat as mine,” and “Hey, look at those little hairs on your lip!”
I thought I’d faced all the brutal honesty the world had to offer years ago when someone in the library commented on my “bony” legs. But here we are again. Just as I started to embrace my body’s imperfections—after three kids, two of whom were twins, no less!—Lily’s candid remarks bring me crashing back to reality.
At this age, Lily is blissfully unaware of body insecurities. With her fiery red hair and flawless skin, she turns heads in the grocery store, prompting little old ladies to exclaim, “What a living angel!”
Now, if only I could haul this “angel” and my own “floppy arms” over to the yogurt aisle for some overpriced, organic yogurt.
Despite the changes that come with age—like the callouses on my ankles and the battle scars from childbirth—I genuinely feel more confident in my skin than I ever have. Perhaps it’s because there’s no one left to impress. Sarah is stuck with me for life, thanks to our kids and this big house. I’m no longer on the lookout for validation in my appearance.
If only I could silence my little truth-teller for a moment. Last summer, she asked me if I “remember fossils.” Kids have an uncanny ability to cut through the noise and see the world as it truly is. They lack the biases and complexities that cloud adult perspectives. We’ve all experienced those moments when, after discussing the plight of some endangered animal, our children genuinely wonder why anyone would harm another being for their perceived imperfections. Such clarity!
I often find myself basking in the pride of knowing my kids are learning acceptance through my example. I was certain I saw this understanding reflected in Lily’s face when she turned to me one morning, radiating pure love and acceptance. But then she casually remarked, “Mommy, your breath smells like a dumpster.”
Well, there it is. I’ll be preparing her a bill for labor and delivery soon.
For more insights into parenting and the realities of family life, you can check out this post on the brutal honesty of children.
And if you’re considering starting a family or exploring home insemination options, March of Dimes offers valuable resources. Plus, for those looking for at-home insemination kits, Make A Mom provides trusted products.
In summary, kids have a unique, often hilarious, way of revealing truths about us that we might not be ready to hear. Their honesty can be brutal, but it also teaches us acceptance and love in its purest form.
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