You looked so beautiful last night as you skipped out the door behind your dad.
I wondered briefly when you stopped calling him Daddy.
You had smiled at your reflection in the mirror after I gave your eyelashes the slightest dab of mascara and brushed your cheeks with a fluffy brush that clung to a few specks of color. You found your lip gloss on your own and applied it generously to your pink lips. "Is this good, Mom?"
A hesitant smile played on your face.
I wondered briefly when you stopped calling me Mommy.
"Almost perfect," I said. "The only thing that would make it better is if that little, shy smile turned into a big, confident one."
We were in the middle of braiding your hair when Daddy came home from work. He gave you just the reaction you were hoping for and you felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. As he left to get ready himself, I finished your hair with a bit of pomade to help calm the frizz around your face. You smiled in the mirror. "And Dad thought I looked pretty before!"
You did look pretty, Kenz. But it was the smile. The light in your eyes. The confidence. The bounce in your step. Those were the things that made you beautiful.
