“Mom, when I grow up, are my boobs going to point down like yours do or out like other people’s?”
This is a question my daughter once asked me when I was getting out of the shower. I was mortified. Ummm … how exactly was I supposed to answer this? I wanted to tell her that I hold her and her brother 100% accountable for the state of my boobs. Tell her that they pointed OUT, thankyouverymuch, before she and her brother used them as chew toys for months on end. But I bit my tongue. Let it go. I figured it was a one-off. She wasn’t going to keep making insensitive comments about my looks … was she?
Yes, apparently she was.
The next time she asked why my belly was so “blubbery” and why my butt “jiggled.” And then a few weeks later she tossed out a real doozy.
Someone mentioned my husband and son looked a lot alike and she flipped out. “No fair,” she screeched. “I want to look like Daddy!!!!!”
“But you look like me! People always say you look like me!” I said.
She looked disgusted. “I don’t look like you. You have brown hair. My hair is blonde.” (My daughter really loves having blonde hair. It’s a major part of her identity. I hate to break it to her that it’s just a matter of years before it turns poop brown like mine.)
“They’re talking about our faces, honey, not our hair color.”
“Our faces don’t look alike. Mine is all smooth and yours is all bumpy and wrinkly.”
Bumpy and wrinkly? BUMPY AND WRINKLY???? Now that’s low.
I know my daughter doesn’t mean to hurt me with her comments. Kids just tell it like it is, and she’s just being honest. And she’s right. My skin is bumpy and wrinkly. And my boobs do point down. After I licked my wounds and told her that it isn’t nice to say things like that to people, I realized I didn’t want my daughter to see I was upset over her comments about my looks. I didn’t want to be upset over her comments.
I wanted to show her that I don’t really give a crap. I might have pimples and crow’s feet and saggy boobs, but on the inside I’m beautiful and always will be, even when I’m 97-years-old. I want to teach my daughter to love herself for HER, not for her perky boobs or flawless skin. Because let me tell you, those things don’t last forever. And if you’re pinning your happiness on them, you’re screwed.