By Stephanie Wilcox
@stephaniee_wilcox

“Mom” my three-year-old daughter says, “I want a zipper on my leg too.” The look on her little face could only be adoration—eyes shining as she pointed a chubby hand toward my knees. “It’s so beautiful!”

I stared down in dismay to where she pointed. That “zipper” was identical twin scars running over the top of my kneecaps. Six ugly inches from top to bottom, side by side. At least they’re symmetrical. I do not love them.

But my daughter’s eyes are fresher than mine, they’re far more capable of seeing the beauty around her. Where I saw one healed scar and one red, healing wound, she saw something intriguing and lovely. She saw something lovely enough that she wanted to emulate it. The fact that they stood out, shouting to be noticed, so unnatural, was the very reason she was enamored with them.

Every day for the next week I noticed that she traced a line in marker over each of her perfect, tiny knee caps. She purposefully chose shorts or dresses that would show off those lovely self-tattooed zippers. Blue and green marker vibrantly worn like a badge of honor as she gladly showcased her legs. I hid mine like a rite of shame.

My little girls look for lovely. They notice it everywhere they are. Flowers in vibrant bloom captures their eyes, the brilliance of the moon enthralls them daily and natural running water dazzles. They see beautiful and they’re excellent at calling it out. My youngest is technically still a baby, yet, I watch her wonder over a blade of grass. Enamored by the intricate design. Yet, I find myself unable, perhaps unwilling to do the same over the precision of myself.

One of my great hopes for my girls is that when they hit their late twenties, they won’t stare at themselves in a mirror through eyes that distort their appearance. I hope they never hide their knees out of shame. Really, I also hope they never have a cause to.

These zippers. She sees beauty, something to emulate. Lord, help me. Too often I only see ugly.

“Why do you like them so much, baby?”

“Mama, they make your legs so super strong! I want strong legs too.”

She sees beauty fully. She hasn’t been deceived yet. She hasn’t been convinced yet that beauty is only found in perfection. Her little mind can assimilate function and aesthetic as both possessing loveliness. Suddenly, I find myself, once again, the student and she the teacher.

What would my mothering look like, what harmony could I breathe into my home if, rather than praising my girls for their appearance, I spoke with as much wholesome appreciation of their whole self as my three-year-old does?

“Hey little girl, I love how you used your hands to serve your sister today. That was so lovely.”

“Your legs are so strong and help you run so fast! Wow, those legs are really good!”

“I like when you wave at others in the store. It’s so nice when you’re kind to others. I like that about you.”

She beams at me with each new affirmation. My words are often greeted by an exuberant “Thank you!”. Suddenly, I start to notice the way she parades around our house sticking those strong legs out as far as she can, as amazed as I am by their capability. It makes her feel lovely and sure, I can see that in the way she confidently twirls for me.

These zippers. What do I do about these zippers? She can’t be the only one to see the loveliness there. But loving this body, choosing to see it as beautiful, to call it beautiful, often feels too difficult a task. Not to mention the deformed knuckles on my hand or that baby weight that sits differently than anything on my waist ever has. I whispered to myself that she was being unrealistic. Couldn’t. Can’t. Maybe I just didn’t want to.

“Mommy, I like your soft belly. It feels so fabulous!”

Maybe that skin that held them in while they grew and took shape could be useful as well as lovely. Her affirmations started to come quickly, a beat matched by my own offering to her. I don’t want to argue with my thoughts anymore. How I long for eyes that see like hers.

These hands that I have loathed for so long, they are able to comfort my babies’ bruises like no other hands can. These hands can recite each of the steps of my husband’s favorite meal, they can trace little toes as only this mommy can. My hands have created loveliness, given service, care and love to my family endlessly.

The legs I have often resented, with those painfully obvious twin scars, they confidently took on the park this past summer with two little people in tow. They carried me on hikes and family walks, time spent that will remain a treasure of my heart. These legs can keep up with the whirling, twirling ballerina that lives with me and they can dance with my husband. I can’t argue against that kind of beauty.

These arms, though not as functional as I would choose, can grab a falling baby just in time, hold a crying child when I didn’t get there in time and lovingly pick up this home time and time again.

My feet, too often hidden by shame, have walked my halls thousands of times, rocking a tiny baby back to sleep. They’ve raced to bring peace to many squabbles and raced a toddler to entertain.

Mom, I want a zipper on my leg too. It’s so beautiful!

Those words strike me differently now as I look at my two girls. My body, too frequently bruised and battered by the cruelty of my own thoughts, had the strength and capability to grow two precious, flawless little women. This is undeniably beautiful. I couldn’t and wouldn’t dare to argue with that.

These zippers are a little less ugly today.

Guest essay written by Stephanie Wilcox. Stephanie is a wife and stay at home mom to two delicious little girls. She fell in love with the written word at a young age and delights in the life pursuit of loving and knowing the Living Word. You are most likely to find her hiding from the laundry or outside barefoot with a book in hand. You can read her work on the Chasing Sacred devotional app and on Instagram