Updated: March 19, 2021
Originally Published: February 27, 2012
Each night, after tucking my girls into bed, I retreat to the bathroom for my nightly routine—a moment where I confront my reflection and navigate the nuances of being 40. I remind myself that my focus on the new lines on my face and the more pronounced pores is an act of self-care. Instead of criticizing the passage of time, I’m simply taking the time to reconnect with my image. I pluck stray eyebrow hairs, swipe toner-soaked cotton pads along my neck, and brush my teeth twice.
Recently, as I splashed water on my face, my daughter, Lily, tiptoed in behind me.
“I just need to blow my nose,” she whispered.
“Sure,” I replied, my voice muffled by water. I splashed my face again, lathering soap in gentle circles on my cheeks. The sound of her soft nose blows into a tissue made me smile—a reminder of all the years I waited for her to master that simple skill. When I finished rinsing my face, I noticed she was holding the tissue not to clear her nose but to hide the fact that she was watching me. It struck me that her curiosity was genuine—she wanted to know what I do each night, but even more, she was eager to understand the world ahead of her. I stood taller, and she gave me a shy smile.
This summer marked a shift in her demeanor, a newfound stillness as she seeks to grasp the complexities around her. Standing there in the bathroom, I felt a bit unsure as the subject of her inquisitiveness. Clad in my soft cotton nightgown, the thin straps barely covering my shoulders, I felt exposed under her gaze. My past insecurities about not measuring up resurfaced, and I wrestled with the urge to project a polished appearance—thinner, prettier, stronger, trendier, more organized…
“Why do you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Everything.”
Taking a breath, I pondered the balance I try to maintain between unwinding and getting caught up in daily chaos. “I guess it’s kind of a treat; it helps me slow down.”
“Why do you want to slow down?”
“Well, sometimes I tell you not to rush, and other times I say hurry up.” She nodded slowly, trying to process my words.
“Honestly, no one really tells me that. Sometimes Dad does, but mostly I have to remind myself.” Her confusion was palpable.
“When I come in here at night, it’s like getting a fresh piece of paper to write my thoughts or draw a new picture,” I explained. “I do this so I can shake off the rush or slow from the day,” I grinned, “or wash it off, and drift off to sleep at just the right speed.”
“Yeah, but why do you take so long?”
She looked up at me, determined to solve this puzzle, just like she did with that colorful paper lantern we made last summer.
“Umm, probably because it takes me a while. I’m not always great at letting things go or finding the right rhythm,” I shrugged my shoulders, feeling the weight of my insecurities.
“I think your face looks nice when it’s all shiny and pink after the hot water. And you smell good.” She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me. I rested my head on hers—her height noticeably closer now. After a moment, she pulled away and asked, “When you’re done and you don’t have to rush, will you rub my forehead until I fall asleep?”
We exchanged warm smiles.
“Of course, I’ll be right in, okay?” As she nodded and tossed her tissue in the trash, she added, “Oh, and Mom, I really love your nightgown.”
With that, she skipped away, the coral and yellow stripes of her pajamas trailing behind her like ribbons until she disappeared through the door. I realized we both navigate our days with a constantly shifting lens. While it may not always provide clarity, every so often, it uncovers connections between our experiences, allowing us to see ourselves—and each other—in a new light.
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In summary, the journey of motherhood is filled with moments of reflection, curiosity, and connection. As we navigate our roles and responsibilities, it’s essential to find time for ourselves and to share those experiences with our children. Through that shared understanding, we can create a deeper bond, helping them to see the beauty in their own journeys.