I-, I'm-, I'm not perfect!
It was a big surprise to me. It occurred to me that before my weight gain, when I was still aware of myself, I was too aware. Nit-picking everything, I was my own three-way mirror. Take, for example, my chin, specifically my profile. I'd say I wish I had a picture of it, to show you, but I really don't. Growing up, I hated it. Hated, hated, hated. It's a weak chin-- the end of it goes directly to my neck, no prominence whatsoever, the dream of a long, swan-like neck impossible. Even as a kid, I knew it made me look weird, mongoloid, even. No boy could ever love me.
And how sad is that, to focus so much energy on hating something you can't fix, or at least without a few thousand dollars and a dude in scrubs with a knife? Something that possibly no one ever actually notices? I mean, no one ever made fun of it, I was never teased or called No-Chin. But I couldn't stand it, and no matter how I tried, I couldn't wish or pray it away.
I've been enjoying all these freedoms that I never knew I could; freedom of the constant 3-way mirror, and except for weighing myself and analyzing my diet, freedom of constant judgements about myself. When I realized I wasn't perfect, I realized I don't need to be. I feel so good actually achieving what I can, why should I even let an aspect of my person, something in my DNA, bother me?
Once my mother smiled at me and said, "You have my chin!" not knowing how much I disliked it, and shamefully, in that moment,
I resented her for it.
As a woman, I think there must be something very special to having a daughter; it's this person that you can mold and assist and cultivate, most especially because you can empathize specifically with her. As someone's child, I think if it's the best thing you do in life, you should be a better version of your parents. I love my parents, but I'm not going to raise my children the same way I was raised, and I don't expect my children to raise theirs the same way either. Your kids should be able to take from you a clearer vision of the world. After all, you're around them the most (hopefully), and you know them intimately (hopefully).
Last night the hubby and I were talking about our kids (the ones we don't have yet, I mean), and I was saying something about having a daughter. My husband comes from a very good-looking family, and his sister's kids (two of them girls) are all adorable, strong, and intelligent. I said, "God, I just hope my daughter doesn't have my chin!" I hope my daughter, if I end up having one, is a better version of me. Or completely different version of me, the one I've only dreamed of being, say the cheerleader or the lawyer or the Best Knitter Ever. But I take it back. I hope she does have my chin, my mother's chin, her mother's chin, whoever-this-chin-belongs-to's chin. It's with me for a reason. We can never be perfect. And perfection doesn't sound fun anyway.
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