Easter is a very special time for very obvious reasons.
This year has got us reflecting, as two big things happened to our daughter last Easter and although it’s not quite an anniversary as it’s fallen much earlier this time, it still has us reminiscing. Those two things were potty training and chicken pox. So much fun.
Our Easter weekend last year was spent following our daughter round with a towel placing it underneath her when ever she sat down just in case she had an accident, and offering out endless stickers for her reward chart. A week later the chicken pox arrived. Yay.
She has been left with a few scars from the pox, majority of which will fade away over time, but one in particular is quite a beast. It’s just under her eye, she must have constantly caught it during her sleep because every morning there was a fresh scab and you could tell it was getting deeper. It was obvious it was going to leave a scar. I remember looking at it and being so sad that her face was going to be scarred.
Kind of but not quite a year later, and I blumming love that scar. I can’t imagine her without it, it’s part of the pieces that help make her, her. Others may see it as an imperfection but I see it as part and parcel of what makes her wonderful.
Now also kind of but not quite a year later, I have my right hand man, his lack of a left hand certainly puts the small facial scar into perspective! We’ve asked ourselves before now whether we would want him to have a left hand. Without having to think about it we said no. It simply wouldn’t be him if he had both hands, we blumming love him for every piece that makes up who he is. Now I may have just triggered an interesting discussion in your head about the concept of identity here, which I do apologise for, if you’d like to have a good chat about it I’m happy to use that as an excuse for a chin wag over coffee and cake.
His lack of a hand doesn’t define him (I’ve said this before) he is so much more than the little boy without a left hand, but it is part of what makes him who he is, and I love him exactly for who he is, I wouldn’t change him.
All of this has got me thinking about me and how I see myself. My daughter is starting to pick up some of my mirror habits and words I used around how I look. It’s definitely challenging me, and making me think that maybe, just maybe, those things I see as imperfections in reality actually aren’t. Maybe I need to learn to love every piece that makes up who I am to see the whole just like I do with my children?! It’s just an idea.
I’m going to try and start seeing myself in a more positive light. It doesn’t seem right that I’m willing to tell my children that they are loved, wonderful and beautiful for exactly who they are and not be willing to believe that about myself. We should all believe that about ourselves. The world is quick to tell us what defines ‘beauty’ and quick to draw red circles around our ‘flaws’ (I’m getting a bit standing on my soap box I know!!). We focus so much on how we look, we all have hang ups, and for my right hand man people will intrigued by how he looks for his whole life. I hope it doesn’t become a hang up for him, I hope he loves exactly who he is the way we do, but if not, I hope I can be there to help him ignore societies ideal of how we should look and through learning how to do it myself, show him how.