“She looks just like you,” people say. “You’ve got a little mini-me!”
And not when prompted. It’s just what we hear. At the grocery store, while visiting the eye doctor, from fellow patrons at a restaurant…
It’s true. She does. In lots of ways, she is my mini-me.
She’s got my eyes. My smile. Even my legs.
We also share the same fiery temper, fast-changing moods, and god awful stubbornness.
Her whole face lights up when she’s happy. Just like I’m told mine does.
Her world crumples when someone’s angry with her—just like mine does.
But, even at age four, she’s also completely, uniquely herself.
She sings. All the time. In the car, when she’s playing with her dolls, even when she’s trying to fall asleep.
She rarely walks when she can run, and twirls whenever possible.
She loves, loves, loves to dance. So much so that she insisted on performing in her recital a few weeks ago, despite the fact that she’d been home sick for three days, had a 103 degree fever, and a nose that wouldn’t quit dripping.
Did I mention she’s determined? Because when that girl gets her heart set on something, there’s no stopping her.
She’s a little social butterfly, and makes new friends within two minutes of arriving somewhere new.
She’s generous with hugs, and there’s not an hour passes by that I don’t hear, “Mommy? I love you.”
She’s beautiful, inside and out.
Not to mention smart as hell.
So. If this little person, this woman-to-be, who looks and acts so much like me so much of the time is beautiful…then what does that make me?
I’ll tell you what it makes me.
It makes me the woman who is going to teach her to appreciate her beauty. Who will spend every day reminding her of how smart, talented, and completely awesome she is. And who will help her find the strength to hold on to herself (and everything that makes her special) when life gets tough.
It also makes me a woman who will do her best to appreciate her own beauty. Who will revel in her own awesomeness. And who will work hard to be the person my girl says she wants to be when she grows up.
Because someday? When she’s 15 and feeling completely awkward and out of place?
I want to be able to march her over to a mirror, stand next to her, and say, “Look in front of you and tell me what you see.”
To which I hope she’ll answer, “A couple of gorgeous babes, Mom.”
Then I’ll smile back at her and say, “You better believe it. I know I do.”
And then I want her to walk away from me, standing tall, feeling proud, and ready to take on the world, sharing her beauty with everyone she meets.
Proudly linking up with Writing, Wishing and These Little Waves to capture this snapshot, this memory, of my daughter at age four.