There are few lights less flattering than the glare of my bathroom light at 5
am. I leaned on the counter with my elbows while I splashed cold water on my
face. Glancing up at my dripping reflection, I cringed. I need another hour or
two of sleep before I look human. As I flipped the switch, I felt a warm body
against my legs. My son had appeared beside me. He wrapped his arms around my
thighs and pressed his face into my belly. "Hi, buddy," I said. He beamed up at
me with his sleep flushed face and purred, "Mommy, you're gorgeous." My
self-deprecating side (or self-defecating as my mom, Queen of Picturesque Speech
says) wants to deny these accolades. The rest of me wants to bask in the
sunshine of my child's adoration. Kids have a special filter on their vision.
It's Cybil Sheppard lighting for the cold, hard world. Dust particles swirling
in afternoon sunbeams become dancing fairies. Every trip to the toilet becomes
an event worthy of a song and dance. I am reminded of a shower I shared with my
oldest while I was pregnant with my youngest. In the confines of our shower,
surrounded by steam, she beamed up at me and patted my butt. I said, "Mommy has
a big butt, huh?" "It's GREAT," she said. Hey, who am I to argue? Minutes later,
she performed an original tune in my honor, called "Big Fat Butt, Big Fat
Belly." I had been referring to my pregnant shape as "Mr. Kool-Aid body."
Sheesh. It took my toddler less than a minute to make me feel worthy of rhyme
and song. Unconditional love is a gorgeous thing.