I watch my four-year-old and can’t help but admire everything that she is.

I watch her twirl in the mirror and grin back at her own reflection.  When asked if she’s beautiful, she unabashedly responds with “yes”.

She will confidently tell us she is pretty even as she stands in mix matched pajamas, her hair a mess, and the remains of breakfast smeared across her face.

For her it’s simple–she’s beautiful just because she is

–and she is–

For her being pretty is static and unchanging.

Her eyes are green.

Her hair is brown.

And she’s pretty.

Beauty doesn’t depend on the day. It’s not dependent on what she wears or whether or not mom decided to pin her down and comb her hair.

But even though she knows she is beautiful, I don’t think she really cares. She’s far more proud of how fast she can run, how far she can kick a soccer ball, and that she can finally push herself on the swings.

She looks in the mirror and sees that she is beautiful, but she inherently knows she is so much more.



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