My daughter didn’t inherit her warm brown eyes or bouncy curls from me. And her curves won’t be patterned after the lines of my figure. And while I won’t pass on genetic biology, I hope I can pass down a self-certain psychology. A firm belief that her body doesn’t define her, but that she can love and use her body to define her future. But I can’t give her something, I don’t have myself. So today, I’m proud of all 5 ft 5 inches.
Somedays I wonder what I could accomplish with 8 hours of focus, today I would have settled for 8 minutes. But what I accomplished in my pre-baby career is currently rotting in rusty filing cabinets and hard drive dumpsters.
Although my daily lists are regularly bare of achievement-crowning checks, I am raising eternal heirlooms. And to remind me and my children of this, I have written each of them their own book with the help of Beth Allen’s illustrations. This is Oscar’s. And we got it out just in time to share it with Grandma Sue, who’s leaving for a humanitarian mission in New Zealand. She never had 8 minutes of focus when she was raising me either.