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It's Always Fat Tuesday In My World

READER: Are we really going to have to read another post about your oversized derriere?

ME: I can't believe you went there!

READER: Are we really not going there?

ME: This could totally be a post about the GF king cake I made for our Mardi GrOscar party on Sunday. It was unintentionally sugar free, so I'm pretty sure there's a story in there.

READER: I'm not buying it. We're going to have to read about your butt.

ME: You are now, jerk. 

But not really, because this isn't quite about my butt. Well, tangently, it's about my butt. If it wasn't abundantly clear, I don't like it. That's all the more that really needs to be said on the subject. That's the thing this whole story hinges on: things girls don't like about themselves.

And by girls, I pretty much mean my girl, who I truly thought was too young to have preferences about her looks. Too young, or perhaps too beautiful. Up until Mardi GrOscar day, I was actually going around thinking that maybe she'd be the only girl in the world who didn't have image issues. 

Truth be told, I expect her to fuss over being tall from time to time. I imagine finding dates to middle school dances will be tough (dodged that bullet!), and she'll probably have to wear flats to her senior prom. But with that gorgeous face and slender build, who can really complain, right? 

Wrong.

Why am I always wrong in my own posts? You'd think I'd get things right occasionally, if for no other reason than I've grown tired of confessing my great ignorance to the world wide web. But you'd be wrong about that. See? We're all on level ground now.

So anyway, there I was, primping in the giant mirror with Ricka. We were getting all dolled up for the festivities, and because she's freaky like that, Ricka brought wigs. Really fabulous wigs to go with our really fabulous Mardi GrOscar getups.

And in popped my girl. She was already dressed (pink princess dress, mom's black boots), but when she saw the wigs, she immediately realized her outfit was subpar, and Ricka's blue wig was going to be the only thing in the world that would complete the ensemble.

So on it went. And on it stayed as Ricka and I continued to primp, but mostly watch Ayana as she grew more and more feminine before our eyes. She was pushing her blue hair back over her shoulders, fussing with the bangs, teasing the crown, twirling in circles to get maximum flow.

It was so damn cute. And that's the only excuse I have to offer for not seeing the meltdown before it came. It should have been obvious to me that this was perhaps the happiest I'd ever seen my daughter. It should have been clear that to take the wig would be to take a piece of her soul that had been missing till the afternoon of the Mardi GrOscar party. 

It should have been, but it wasn't. It just wasn't.

I don't wish to recall the tantrum that came when I had to reclaim the wig, and you don't wish to imagine it. It was a really tough couple of mother/daughter minutes. But in those minutes, I saw a flash of the future, and it broke my heart. 

Like many women with natural hair, Ayana is probably going to struggle with her curls from time to time. I just didn't think we'd already come to that time. I thought she loved her hair because I love her hair. I tell her how beautiful it is 10 times a day at least, and what reason would she have not to believe me?

I don't know the reason, but I do know that she wanted that long, straight, blue hair really, really bad. I know she has never in her life seemed so aware of her beauty as she did in those moments in the mirror. 

We gave her the wig back, once we got to the Mardi GrOscar party, and she spent pretty much the entire evening primping in a full length mirror, twirling and dancing like the precious princess she is.

Of course I'm not ready for her to care about her hair or her butt or her skin. She's still my baby and I don't want her to want things I can't give her. Not yet. Not unless they're suckers, because I'm happy to hoard those until she deserves them. 

But looking back on all this, I'm happy she was aware of herself on Mardi GrOscar day. I'm happy she looked in the mirror and saw something she just couldn't take her eyes off of. And I hope she can find ways to recreate that feeling for the rest of her life--even if she'll need a closet full of wigs and princess dresses to make it happen. Lord knows we could all stand to have a moment where we look in the mirror and think, Perfection.



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