an old letter to Rowan, when she was 11 months old

So I was going through some old stuff on the computer this weekend and came across this thing I had written for Rowan when she happened to be 11 months old. Piper is 11 months old today---so it kind of struck me. I didn't have this blog back then, so I figured it was worth a posting....almost 4 years later! I think I had read this question in an Oprah magazine, of all things, and the following was my reply to Rowan.

What’s the most important piece of advice you can give your daughter about being beautiful, feeling beautiful?

You’re 11 months old today, and I don’t think you could be any more beautiful than you are right now. Last night, you ran your hands, covered in pizza sauce, through your hair and over your face—then looked to us in delight. You make these hilarious faces; we call one of them your “evil eye,” without self-consciousness, only to make us laugh. You strut around in your holy nakedness with pride and pleasure. You are pure. You don’t care what anyone thinks of your appearance. It’s hard to imagine you fretting over how a pair of jeans fits, or sneaking makeup to put on after you’ve left the house, or groaning “oh mother” when I don’t allow you to buy a shirt that looks “soooo cute” on you. But I know those times are coming. Eventually you will learn how interested this world is in beauty.

Always know that I thought you were most beautiful today—at 11 months, with broccoli in your hair, and that I will also think you are most beautiful at 11 years old, and 31, and 61.

When you think too much about beauty, when you worry about it obsessively, when you spend too much money on it, when you shed tears about it--as soon as you work too hard to be beautiful, you become less beautiful. The most beautiful women I know don’t spend that much time on it. One of the most beautiful women I know wears her hair the exact same way every single day, and has for over twenty years. The most beautiful women don’t really understand how beautiful they are…and if they did, they wouldn’t really care. Because they’re more concerned with the latest social injustice they learned about, their amazing children, or their rewarding careers. Be passionate. Love what you do. Beauty will be secondary, and automatic.

Take care of yourself. Floss. Get enough sleep. Wash behind your ears. Exercise. Wear clothes that fit. Take chances. Try new styles. Be pampered once in awhile.

Care less about yourself. When you focus on the people around you, you realize how unimportant it is to have the whitest teeth or the tannest skin. Be selfless, and you will be beautiful.

Don’t believe the smiling, overpaid celebrity you see touting the next miracle cream. Protect your heart. Protect your confidence. Tell yourself “they’re not real!” over and over again if you have to--about fake boobs, botoxed eyes, impossibly thin magazine cover images. They’re not real.

Don’t wear makeup every day.

Love your skin--the thick skin covering your elbows, the delicate skin between your toes, the vast desert of skin over your back, the ocean of skin dressing your stomach. Love it when it’s smooth and tight when you’re 15, love it when it’s stretched over a miraculous pregnant belly when you’re 28, love it when it bears the stretches and strains of that life-giving at 40. Love your skin when it deepens with wrinkles. Love it when it jiggles on the underside of your arm as you wave goodbye to your grandchildren. Tattoo it, if you can be that committed. Pierce it, if you can handle the pain. Don’t do either in a place that cannot heal or be covered up for an important interview. Celebrate your skin, celebrate you.

A guy likes a girl who can go from being sweaty playing basketball or hiking in the woods to looking acceptable…no, looking beautiful… for a symphony in under an hour. 30 minutes is even better. 15 will make you the most dateable girl around. Just ask your dad.

Don’t fight getting older. You’re not supposed to look like a 21 year old forever, and no one expects you to. Wear your gray hair proudly. Your dad thinks it’s sexy when an older woman wears her hair long and gray. Marry a man like your father.

Marry a guy who thinks supermodels are not real.

Marry a guy who understands that true beauty should not require hundreds of dollars of skin cream and makeup, and who doesn’t expect you to wake up in the morning looking like you’re ready for the prom. Marry a guy who thinks you’re beautiful in sweatpants, beautiful after giving birth, beautiful when you’re singing off-key in the car, beautiful when your nose is runny, beautiful when you’re 65.

Have I always followed this advice? Of course not. Has anyone? But I’ve tried, and I think I’ve done pretty well. I can get ready for a fancy event in no time. I don’t bother with makeup most days. I didn’t get a real haircut until I was an adult. I married your father. I thought my body was the most beautiful when I was 9 months pregnant with you. But sometimes I find myself fretting over a poorly timed pimple (yes, they still happen after adolescence), wishing that my hair was more this, my thighs more that, my skin more whatever. If I’m having a particularly self-conscious day, I see a stunning woman at the supermarket and I get a twinge of jealousy. Don’t beat yourself up. No one is perfect, not in beauty or in wisdom. If someone, someday, tells me that you are a beautiful person on the inside--it will be one of my best moments.

I have this friend. She lost 3 of her babies. Then she lost both breasts to cancer. Then she lost her hair. We’re the exact same age, 28, born a day apart. She knows more about beauty than I will ever know. She has the most radiant smile. She always did, really, but it took stripping away her luscious hair (she had the best hair), and flattening out her breasts, to really get a look at that smile.

It stops you in your tracks.

Want that kind of beauty.