Being a Woman

Five years ago, when my sister found out her first child was a girl, we were thrilled. We were very familiar with girls. My mom is one of two girls, and she had two girls. Girls seemed to run in the family. The family story is that when my sister was born, and Dad and Grandpa found out they would only have the two girls, my Grandfather was pleased. Supposedly he said boys are nothing but trouble.

It was exciting to shop for the pretty frilly dresses. I knew I could share the books I had loved with my niece. She could read the Little House books, Little Women, and when she was old enough Are You There God, It's Me Margaret. The books that left an impact on me as a girl in ways that other books didn't touch me. I looked forward to playing with Barbies and My Little Ponies. I couldn't wait to buy her that first Cabbage Patch doll. It was familiar, and kind of like reliving my childhood. It was exciting.

I was also cautious. For as a woman, I know the road she faces will not be easy. She will struggle with her appearance, trying to measure up to a 'norm' that really isn't the norm. She'll see girls on TV or in magazines, and think she should be like them. She will question her weight, scrutinize her face closely in the mirror looking for breakouts, and since her hair is curly and beautiful, she will wish it were straight.

What I did not realize is that it would start so early. She has an adorable, toothy smile that is perfect for a small child. Her teeth are a little crooked, and she has a gap between her two front teeth. It is the sweetest smile that you expect on a four and a half year old. The problem is, kids have been teasing her at school about the gap in her teeth. So she started smiling with her lips closed. That's a shame, because her smile lights up her face and goes straight to your heart. My sister asked their dentist last year and he told her that her teeth are fine. We've tried to tell her that the gap is not a problem. Mom used the example of her mother and I. I did not have a gap between my teeth, and I ended up in braces. Laura had a gap, and never had to have braces. Sydney could not be convinced. Today my sister took her to their new dentist, a female, who assured Sydney her teeth are fine, and now Sydney is happy. I am hoping she will smile that disarming smile more, and I'm hoping her self- esteem issues about her looks will be put aside until she's at least a pre-teen. Somehow, I don't think that's going to be the case.

There was a news story recently about a mother giving her eight year old beauty queen daughter botox. There are so many things wrong with that sentence. Eight year olds should not be beauty queens. I don't think there should be beauty queens: whether they are eight, eighteen, or twenty-eight. I think focusing on the outside causes you to miss the best part: what's on the inside. Then there's the mother giving her young daughter poison, and the child wanting to be beautiful and have a boob job. The whole thing is just appalling. Although, you only need to flip through the cable box to find shows such as Toddlers & Tiaras and Glamour Belles to know there are other moms who probably share this twisted view.

Let them be kids! Eight year olds should be dreaming of new bikes and sleepovers with their friends, not boob jobs. The insecurities of our gender will creep in soon enough: when you're the last in your class to get a bra. Or, in my case, if you're the first in your class! And if that doesn't make you insecure, that moment you cross the threshold and become a woman will certainly throw you into a tailspin. Let the children enjoy childhood without these extra burdens.

I wouldn't be surprised to find these women who press their daughters to be 'beautiful' at such a young age were also pushed by their own mothers. I had girlfriends whose mothers were always on their case- watching every pound. I always felt so badly for them. If their mother had been popular and pretty in school, they wanted the same for their daughters.

I was incredibly fortunate. My mother did not hassle us about our weight. She didn't tell us to wear our hair a certain way. She only asked that we keep it out of our eyes, and if we didn't, she took us to the hairstylist. If she made a pan of brownies, it wasn't off limits to us. Perhaps Mom knew from her own weight struggle how hard it was to be a girl. Even now, when I think I've put on a few pounds, mom says 'you look good!' Dad may comment that I've gained a little (and his comments are never appreciated- but he's a man and doesn't realize how hurtful it is), but mom never does. She notices when I've lost, as I do for her. And if she thinks I'm too thin, she feeds me.

My mother made us comfortable in our own skin. Or tried to. It took a while for her lessons to sink in. As you know, girls hit their growth spurts earlier than guys. So when I was taller than the guys, waiting for them to catch up, and the first person in my circle of friends to have braces, I was not comfortable in my own skin. I felt like the biggest dork. I was also certain I was invisible, or that people only saw me as a brain. It took a long time for me to get comfortable with me. Perhaps now I am too comfortable, because I honestly don't care what people think when they look at me. If you're too hung up on the size of my clothing, I think it is your loss. You are missing out on the great person underneath the clothes.

I feel as a woman, I have a duty to my niece. To all younger women, really. I must help them see they are each a wonderful unique creature. Every woman is worth something. Your worth is not determined by the color of your hair or the size of your waist. It is not determined by your job, your car, your bank account, or your boyfriend. It is your heart, your soul, your personality. Once we, as women, like the person looking back at us in the mirror, we can share that security with other women. And hopefully, we will stop passing these toxic beliefs on to our daughters.