Define Beauty

Having a baby girl was no less or more of a blessing than having a son eight years prior. It was just different. How much fun it would be to dress a little girl in pink and frills. Having a delicate little girl would be different.
I suppose the kicking, while carrying her, should have been the first indication that a lack of delicacy existed. This girl could be a place kicker for a major football team. A fact further confirmed when at two months old she kicked so hard that a stray string in her sleeper wound so tight around her toe that only a doctor could remove it. It was one of those times when, as a mother, one feels totally inadequate for the job. In my defense, I did all the appropriate things when her not so tiny and not so delicate crying persisted. I tried feeding her, checked her diaper, and a myriad of other tactics. Who would think that her crying had to do with the pains of fashion. It was the last time she wore a sleeper, but not the last time that she dictated what she would wear.
At two years old her favorite shoes were cowboy boots. Her favorite top; a sweatshirt. Daily I chose a feminine outfit for her to wear. Daily, she would raid the laundry basket for yesterday’s sweatshirt. I left her in frills, only to have her appear moments later in a comfortable not so feminine shirt that needed washing. Already suffering from motherhood inadequacy, I determined that it was better to have the world know that I occasionally did laundry and I soon gave up on frills, lace and flowers. Pink? Forget it. Pink wasn’t a color according to her. It seems that I had a preconceived idea of what a little girl should be that didn’t exist.
Today we went shopping. By now, I know her adversity to lace, ribbons, and flourishings and yet I still have visions of delicacy and beauty in today’s purchase. Some ideas seem to persist despite all logical reasoning. I still have that preconceived idea of the delicate, soft, feminine look in girls’ fashion. As she walks out of the dressing room, I am happy that I never gave up hope. Until today I never noticed how much her white sweatshirts complimented her dark complexion and hair. While she isn’t wearing a lot of lace and embellishments, she is feminine and dazzling. The bagginess of the sweatshirt is gone, revealing simple curves. The dress is sleek, plain and eloquent. I guess, sometimes a mother just has to hang tight to see her visions materialize. What a stunning bride she will make. Sometimes a mother just knows.