Beauty

Today, Baby Badger woke up from her nap crying and somewhat disoriented.  She asked for a bottle of milk, and I brought her downstairs, holding her on my lap.  She drank her milk and drowsed a bit before fully waking up and looking up at me with a smile.  I don't know what prompted it, but I held her close and we sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" together, and she clapped.

For me, as a young adult, to think about what was beautiful was to focus on the superficial.  Models, actresses selling make-up, any other woman who was admired for her hair or face or body.  Always subtle jealousy and feelings of inadequacy because to be considered beautiful was always a title bestowed by someone else.

I wandered into the Boy Badgers' room late tonight to turn off the fish tank light.  As I do every night, I adjusted their blankets and gave them kisses.  And as I do every night, I stare at their little faces.  My oldest was sleeping peacefully, looking, to me, exactly as he did as a baby.  And I had the thought that if I watched him sleep again, many years from now, I would see my baby still.

When I became a Mommy, I still had those self-deprecating thoughts of my own attractiveness, magnified by weight gain and exhaustion.  But I found myself reserving the word beautiful for my children.  Even for brand-new infants, crying with soiled diapers or a food-stained bib, I saw beauty, and I allowed myself to define it.  It was suddenly beyond face-value and it ran deeper, resonating with new emotions.

The Little Badgers and I visited my grandmother in her nursing home earlier this week.  She will be ninety-five in a couple months, and has difficulty hearing and seeing.  In fact, for most of our visit, she didn't seem to notice that we were there, and I'm still not sure she knew who we were.  But, at one point, she looked right at me with her blue eyes shining, and she smiled.

For me, to be a Mommy is to feel full.  To walk around most of the time with strong emotion somewhere close by.  To see beauty in things that, in others' eyes, may seem commonplace, or ordinary.  My child's chubby hand gripping a cup.  The brilliance of the sky over our home.  A moment spent talking with my sister.  Beauty, now, comes with gratitude, and acknowledgment.  My perception of beauty is no longer as a facade, but representative of a personal journey, informed by love, and defined by experience.