|You don't have to be perfect to be an awesome parent.|
I can feel that day looming on the horizon. Every day, it seems to inch closer and closer, and there is not a thing I can do about it. The other night, I was laying in bed doing my nails. The light was off, but I had the bedside lamp on, which is typically more than enough light. My husband and I began debating something that required me to read the back of the nail polish bottle. It was that moment I realized I had the eyes of someone who is middle aged. I blinked a few times, squinted a little, I even moved the bottle closer to my face. It was all in vain. I couldn't read the damn white print. I was convinced the issue was the bottle until I turned on the light and the words magically appeared on the bottle. Every day, I get one day closer to being thirty seven years old. It is happening and I can't change it.
You know, it wasn't that long ago that I was a teenager. I remember how it was, even though you may not think I do. I remember how endless the school days were, which is why I am excited to hear about what you did, when you walk in the door. I know how annoying parents can be, so I realize why you roll your eyes behind my back. I even remember making that same semi-growling noise, when I didn't want to be bothered. Believe it or not, I remember exactly what it was like to be a teenager. It really wasn't so long ago, even though you may think we are so different and I don't understand you at all.
The first time I saw her I fell in love all over again. I knew the feeling because of oldest child, and I didn't think my heart could possibly hold anymore love. It could, and it did. When I met her she was absolutely beautiful and she still is.
Middle child is the exact opposite of me. I am a tomboy and she is the epitome of a girly girl. She loves nail polish and makeup. Her favorite color is pink and she adores anything with glitter. I like understated beauty and glitter makes me itch. Raising middle child is a challenge.
Each time we go to grocery store, middle child stares at the covers of the tabloids that are in the check out line. It is my fault also, I get distracted with putting the groceries up on the belt, so I don't stop her. But, she is just fascinated with the covers and what stars are getting fat or who has cellulite or who is the skinniest currently. These magazines sit at a nine year old's level and shout out, "This is what you need to be in order to be perfect."
I never really had confidence when I was growing up. Actually, I didn't really have it when I was an adult either. In my head, I would try to act like that sultry, sexy vixen you see in movies. But in reality, I'm a goof. I'm clumsy, silly and I can't be sexy to save my life. In my twenties, I was so awkward. Completely uncomfortable with myself and my body. I would attempt to wear heels and dress up like other girls, but could never quite pull it off. I always looked like I was trying too hard, and I was. I was wired to believe that girls had to wear certain things to be pretty, or be a particular something in order to be attractive. Then, I grew up.