My sixteen-year-old daughter came home the other day with more new clothes. Her bedroom floor is already covered with clothes. She is meticulous in her grooming, braiding her hair or tying it back or straightening it in different ways every day. She learned how to do her make-up in modeling classes she took a couple years ago. Even though I am her mom and am supposed to say this, I think she is beautiful.
Of course she’s beautiful, she’s sixteen. All sixteen-year-old girls are beautiful. If you can convince them that they don’t need a boyfriend until they are done with college, you are home free. My eighteen-year-old daughter is beautiful, too…even though she’s kind of whiny.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m still beautiful. I’m definitely not a teenager anymore. When I turned thirty, I cut off my hair because I thought that older women didn’t really look good with long, straight hair. I think I like my hair the way it is now. I have to take a curling iron to it every day because it is thin, but I like that it is still blonde and tends to do what I tell it to do. My sister had blonde hair, too, but now her hair would be better described as brown, or very dark blonde.
My sister is 5 years younger than me. She takes great pictures, and looks about thirty in them. Sometimes, though, when I am talking to her, I see the little wrinkles and signs that yes, like me, she is getting older. I look at my face in the mirror and see wrinkles and dark places around my eyes. I try to cover them with makeup, and it looks better if I step back away from the mirror, or turn off the light. My children’s friends’ parents are all younger than me. People have told me I look young, but I could have grandchildren in their teens, if I’d gotten started sooner.
It makes me feel better to take care of myself, even though it’s a lot of work I’d rather not do. I just do it for me. If I can get the DVD player hooked back up (David took it downstairs to replace his DVD player that wasn’t working for some reason, and now neither one of them works) I’ll do Pilates again. That was torture, but I felt so good. It’s about time to go back to the laundromat and tan, too. That was something I started just last year, so I would have some kind of color built up before our vacation to Florida. I was deathly afraid of burning, and having the tan helped so very much. Now, I’ve discovered that tanning is not very expensive, and it makes me feel good not to have glow-in-the-dark legs that always kept me from wearing shorts every summer. With lotion on my legs, now I feel a little more presentable.
And now the weirdest thing I have ever done. I love it, though, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I got myself a Christmas present, and got my navel pierced. Did I say that I love it? I’m not sure exactly why it makes me so happy, except that it makes me smile thinking that I actually did something so ridiculous. It makes me feel attractive, and dare I say sexy? I don’t care, though, how sexy it might be or not be. I have no plans to tell anyone about it. My husband will never notice, sad to say. I am obsessed with shopping for belly rings, and I am even going to try my hand at making some. It was kind of hard to locate jewelry findings for belly rings, but I finally got some ordered and can’t wait till they get here.
One other positive thing about having a belly ring…when your sixteen-year-old daughter comes up to you and asks to get one, just show her yours and she’ll say “Ewww!” End of discussion.