This morning, while cooing over Evie’s adorable-ness, I had a flash to those mothers who, for whatever reason, are jealous of their daughter’s good looks. Generally, these are women who have a truckload of self-worth issues and whatnot (and let’s be honest, who doesn’t?) and seem to take them out on their daughters. Which to me, seems monstrously unfair and also cruel. I want Evie to be prettier than I am! And while I think that, I know in my heart that it won’t be hard. Simply because I’m not pretty. At 19 months old, she’s already prettier than I am. But you know what? GOOD. It’s like redemption, in a way.
Of course, she IS my daughter and I am a tad biased. I’m sure no matter what I would always think she’s pretty. She always will be, in my eyes. And I said to Kile, “God help the first guy who tells her she isn’t pretty.” To which he replied, “Most guys wouldn’t say that.”
And that’s when the emotion flooded to the surface. The memories, doubts and angst were all the sudden just as fresh as they were years before. I said in return, “You’d be surprised.”
When I was just a young thing, I had a crush on a boy. It was the sort of crush that went on for years. Years and years. It wasn’t pretty. And when I eventually got the nerve up to have my friends talk to him (SNORT!), of course it did not work out the way I would have wanted. There was hemming and hawing and something about how I “wasn’t his type” and blah blah blah. These were all niceties and the bottom line was, I wasn’t pretty enough. Or, you know, pretty at all. So that was that.
Eighth grade pretty much sucked.
Years later, my first real, serious boyfriend… Shortly after we “met” (it was an online thing because I’m not so good with meeting people out in the big scary real world, even now), we exchanged pictures and… yeah. I’m not going to go into dramatic detail but basically, my picture didn’t quite measure up. And he wasn’t sure. He had to have some time to think about it. You know, all the while I’m shrinking until I’m about the size of an ant. Under a microscope, found lacking. Could a fairly ugly girl ever find happiness? I was starting to wonder.
A day or so later, he decided that he was fine with it and the relationship progressed… at least until I dumped him months later because he was kind of a high maintenance sort of guy. Well that and many, many other reasons. But yeah, a story for another time.
It was a common thread. Guys were never interested in me because I just didn’t fit into the classical definition of “pretty”. Some were tactful and tried to find ways to not have to come out and say it, and others did come out and say it. Either way, I always knew where I stood.
Kile rolls his eyes at me whenever I make mention of not being pretty, but it’s pretty matter of fact. Sure, there’s beauty on the inside, etc and so forth, blah blah blah. Was I going to win any beauty contests? Nope. For the most part, I’m pretty okay with it. Of course I’d like to be physically attractive. To have fine features, a petite build, a quick metabolism… who doesn’t want that? But there’s no changing biology and I look the way I look. End of story.
Still, a deep part of me hopes and prays and dreams and wishes that Evie will never EVER have to suffer knowing that she isn’t pretty to me. She’ll always be beautiful to me, of course, but I do feel guilt at hoping that the rest of the world will be able to see it too.
