I hate my lips.

Throughout my entire life, even as a child, there has been one part of my body in particular that I wanted to change: my lips. I can remember trying to bite and peel the excess skin in the center of my top lip, wishing it were thin and smooth. My efforts always failed, and they instead created extra unwanted attention with redness and additional swelling. I eventually quit trying, but I never stopped hating the shape of my lips.

The evidence was irrefutable;
this was my husband's daughter.
(Left: Ellie Rose, 3 weeks old
Right: Logan, 2 months old)

In October of 2018, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I had spent 9 months wondering what the face forming inside of me would look like. After her birth, it became obvious that she favored my husband in her looks. Family members noticed how incredibly similar she looked to my husband when he was a baby; his mom even made a side-by-side comparison with photos. The evidence was irrefutable; this was my husband's daughter.

The shape of her face, the shortness of her nose, and even her red hair... all from him. There was, however, one quality that she got from me: her lips. In some ironic humor, God had given her my lips.

Initially, I was frustrated and became defensive when people mentioned the similarity. But now I sit here, two months later, with a beautiful sleeping child in my arms. I breathe in her scent, hold her tiny fingers, and attempt to memorize every detail of this moment.

I whisper to tell her how beautiful and perfect she is, hoping that she will never question it or doubt her worth in this world. But then, my eyes focus in on her lips. And I become teary-eyed thinking about how I could never imagine changing a thing about her, yet I spent so much of my life wishing it weren't there.

I breathe in her scent, hold her tiny fingers,
and attempt to memorize
every detail of this moment. 

I spend much of my day thinking of my daughter- wondering if she'll have her dad's musical abilities or my sense of humor; wondering if she'll be smart or athletic; wondering if she'll be a teacher like her parents, or find her own unique path to follow. Then, I think about my role in her life: how I can stimulate brain growth, planning activities and trips to help her learn and how I can best support her every day of her life.

Here's the thing though: research shows that our children follow our lead. If I want her to love reading, I have to first be seen reading. If I want her to be healthy and physically active, I can't eat the whole tub of ice cream in one sitting. And if I want her to love herself, I have to first begin to build myself up.

Staring into my daughter's eyes, I'm reminded that she is going to see my life as an example, and I must jump in with both feet to be the best role model that I can be. I must believe and act in the way that I want her to behave, and that means that I must finally stop hating my lips.