As a mother of a little girl (soon to be two little girls!), I am always concerned about teaching my daughter how to love herself. Growing up, I never felt like the "pretty girl." The smart girl, the tall sister, the loud one - all these things, but never really the pretty girl. (No - this is not a pity party for teenage Kristen. I look back fondly on my teenage years and have lots of great memories from middle school and high school.) It wasn't until I met Carey that I truly felt beautiful. I guess finding an amazing man to love and who loves you back has that effect on a person...
Anyway, it's always on my mind that I want Abby to know that she is beautiful, inside and out, and to feel comfortable with herself. I see the Hand of God in my daughter - her dimples, her beautiful brown eyes, her loving heart, her tenderness toward her siblings. And her long brown hair.
When I was growing up, I did not particularly like my hair. It's straight, brown, and blah. It wouldn't hold color. It wouldn't keep a curl. It just wouldn't do anything. So I tried to get it to do something, anything, else. I permed it. I lightened it in the summer. I dyed it every color of the rainbow, from blonde-ish to light brown to such a dark red that it almost looked purple. After I got married and got a job, I'd pay ridiculous prices for highlights at my favorite salon. One visit, after almost 3 hours in the chair and over $150, I realized that I didn't want to do it anymore. I had subsequent haircuts to facilitate the growing out of my highlights, and I haven't done anything to my hair since. This hair - this straight, muddy brown mess - was all mine. And I would find a way to love it as it was.
It's been almost a year since I cut my hair short and got bangs. I still love my short hair. Funny enough, now that my hair is shorter, I can see that it has natural highlights. The stuff on my head that I always thought was muddy brown is actually many different shades of brown, from very light to very dark. Because I don't chemically treat it, it shines and is thick and strong. At my most recent haircut, my stylist told me that people come into the salon asking for the kind of color that I have naturally. I responded to her comment by saying that I used to hate my hair, but after Abby was born and grew such beautiful brown hair, I came to love mine, too. As the words left my mouth, I realized how true they were.
As a mother, I only see beauty when I look at Abigail. I love her hair. I love to brush it. I love to style it for special occasions. I love when it tickles me as we cuddle. I love my little girl's straight brown hair. (And let's face it: between my straight Kowalczyk hair and Carey's straight Chinese hair, did we really expect a curly-headed baby? No, we did not...) Each day, I tell Abby how beautiful her hair is. And her response: "I love that I have brown hair, just like you, mommy."
So, each day, I remind myself that I have a little person who is watching how I behave and listening to how I talk about myself. And as I tell my brown-haired, brown-eyed little girl how beautiful she is and how perfectly made by God she is, I find myself realizing that I, too, am perfectly made. And more than just saying the words, as I look at my precious Abigail, I know that I believe those words.
