where the grass is greener

Lately my daughter has been insisting that she has blue eyes.  I tell her "No, sweetheart, your eyes are brown.  Just like mine!  And your brothers', too.  Brown, dark, beautiful brown.  Like chocolate."

Sometimes she'll be satisfied.  But a few hours later she will start in again.  "My eyes blue! Blue eyes," she says, beaming at the mirror.

And it pains me a bit.  You see, when I was a little girl, I desperately wanted blonde hair and blue eyes.  I thought my own coloring was boring, but ...oh!  To have shining golden hair, bright blue eyes, to wear a pink ballerina's tutu - these were my dreams as a young girl.

So many times, I watch my little daughter.  The way she walks, her perfect confidence that she is lovely and adored.  I have a small tiara which sits on my jewelry box.  The other day I let her wear it for the first time.  We ran to the bathroom mirror: she to see how she looked, me because I wanted to witness her reaction.  Her face positively glowed.  I said "Oh Elise, you look beautiful."  Tearing her eyes away from the mirror, she looked at me with an expression of perfect happiness and breathed: "Yes."

I so want her to keep that.

I  want her to move with an air of confidence, to trust that what she has been given is just what she should have.  To like - nay, love, the color of her hair.  To fully appreciate the warm depth of her brown eyes.

And I suspect that much of that depends on me.

How I perceive my sense of womanhood.  Accentuating my femininity, embracing my body, my face...and yes, my eyes.  It's so very hard for me.  I made peace with my eye color years ago, but accepting other aspects of my appearance is a constant struggle for me.  Yet, I must, for myself as well as for her.

It isn't easy, mothering a little girl.  It's a joy, make no mistake - but what a responsibility!  I need to chose the way I speak about myself so, so carefully.  But beyond that, I want to learn to love myself better. To be thankful for my strong body, my health.  To thank the Lord for the belly that has carried six babies, the hips that have birthed five.  To accept that He has endowed me with my coloring, that He chose the hue of my hair and the shade of my eyes just for me.

To believe that I am beautiful in His sight, just as she is so beautiful in mine.

It isn't easy, mothering a little girl.  But it is a blessing...in more ways than one.