My youngest daughter has Down syndrome, and the way she learns and makes sense of life is by repetition. My sister recently had a baby, so one of the stories we often talk about is how she, too, used to live in my belly. She loves to talk about it. She was a tiny baby and she used to be inside of me! The wonder she shows melts my heart.

And what she loves to do every time we talk about it, is to actually look at my belly. Run her hands through the worn out scars and stretched out skin that hangs loose. “Wow!” she says, “I be baby in your belly.”

They say that girls learn how to see their bodies from how their mom talks about her body. I’m always really careful with what I say, and even joke about it when they inadvertently say something that is not very…let’s say, flattering? Like, “Mom, when you run, I can see your butt wiggle.” So I say, “I know, isn’t it beautiful? Watch how it jiggles and wiggles when I do this!” And I’ll break into a Zumba shimmy. Or, “Mom, why do you have purple lines on your legs? And I say, “They are called spider veins, I just think of them as beautiful decorations.”

However, when my oldest daughter was little and she first noticed my stomach and asked, “Why is your stomach like that?” I said, “You did this to me!” And I grabbed her and tickled her and kissed her face and that was that. But you guys, I’m especially self-conscious of my stomach. You will never, not ever, see me showing my belly. It’s Private (yes, with a capital P).

And here is a confession: What I say about my body to my girls is not necessarily how I feel about it. I am happy with my body in general, as in I have no weight to lose, I exercises regularly thanks to teaching a Zumba class, and I eat healthy. But deep down there are several makeovers I wouldn’t mind. Like for example saying good-bye to varicose veins, cellulite, stretch marks, and gaining a six pack of divine muscles. I mean, muscles on my stomach? Yes please!!!

But this weekend Nichole could not get enough of the marvelous fact that she used to be inside of me. It was early morning and she got in bed with me, lifted my shirt and ran her hands gently over my stomach. My body is a map that marks the exact location where she grew.

“Mom,” she said, “I love it!”

I looked at her, she looked at me and smiled big and bright and genuinely.

And she is right. She is so right.

“Mom,” she said, “I take a picture.”

But that is where I draw the line.

I will love my body and my stomach for the story it tells, but I will not be taking pictures of it. Just, no.

My daughter helped me to see myself through her eyes, and see beauty where I struggle to see it in myself. What about you mom, how have your kids helped you see beauty through their eyes, and see beauty where you struggle to see it yourself?

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