Last year Alexandra was in love with herself.
This year a frenemy at school asked Alexandra how come she already has belly fat.
At age 8 my lovely Alexandra can't yet realize how perfect she is. This I fear might require decades of ruinous rumination.
At 8, I watch her scrutinizing her belly, her hair, her tiny little arms in front of a critical mirror.
Already starting the third grade my daughter officially joins all the rest of us women in the race to constantly adjust, to perfect, to improve ourselves.
Starting now my little Alexandra will cyclically feel ugly, insufficient and inadequate.
No amount of mommy's love will spare her.
No amount of supportive and admiring comments will convince her of how perfect she is.
My baby joins the ranks of us complexed, compliant ladies.
Welcome Alexandra. I trust I've built a strong foundation for you.
I love your perfect little body my beautiful baby. I see all eyes on you. To market to your perceived insufficiencies, to sell you a version of yourself that needs fixing. I keep wishing you could see yourself through my eyes. But you are in the world. You are of the world and the world will teach you what I can't or couldn't thus far.
