“𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓈”....
This random & sugary sweet compliment came on the heels of my not so great day. From the outside looking in my day seemed great. Lunch with my friend, groceries before the snow storm, a little treadmill action while watching the snow fall arrive...but something was stirring in me emotionally that I couldn’t put my finger on.
My daughter, about to turn 14, has unearthed some stuff deep down that I didn’t know I had in there...or had pushed away. 14 was rough for me. My first taste of female medical issues along with a whole slew of bad influences made for a little girl with big stuff happening.
As I walk deeply into my 42nd year on this earth I reflect often on 14. As much as I would never want to re-live those years there is something so special about having those naturally long eye lashes + a whole life ahead of you that makes you miss your younger self. Painfully awkward, hormonal mess and all.
So here I am, staring at my salt covered floor, in the smack dab center of a Midwestern winter, throwing a pan of roasted potatoes away that had somehow gone bad without me noticing & feeling every second of 42 when I turn around and see his head cocked to one side, his brow furrowed as if he was looking for something in the distance.
“What????” I asked, instantly defensive, thinking I had food in my teeth or spoiled potatoes in my hair.
”𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓈“ He says, as the furrow softens and his dimples burst out like popcorn.
𝓂𝑒𝓁𝓉
I needed to hear this more than he will ever know. Hours of scrolling through Tiktok and Instagram have me thinking I need an upper lip injection & an appointment with my eye doctor for some prescription latisse when from the pitcher‘s mound he throws a shut out and wins the game.
I walk into the bathroom and flip the light on to inspect his observation.
“Really??? Thank you!”
I manage to squeak out and on with my night I went...batting those lashes and blushing a little every time I looked at him.
Listen...your forties are gonna be hard sometimes. Throw a teenage daughter in the mix who looks and acts just like you (only so much smarter) and you’ll find yourself admiring your work of art all while taking a staggered breath of air....praying that she’s going to be ok. Praying that her ovaries behave and won’t land her in the operating room. Praying that she chooses great friends and makes wise decisions. Praying that someday, when her eyelashes are thin and barley there, someone who loves her like my husband loves me will say “𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓈”....at the exact, most perfect time.
𝒳𝒪𝒥𝑀
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