Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder

Today I’m sick. That means I have a stuffy nose, my throat aches, my head aches and I’m feeling feverish. It also means I’m very irritable and hate the world and myself. Today’s one of those days when I’m aware of how pale I am, how awful my skin looks, how flabby my stomach is, how much weight I need to lose… I feel so disgusting today that I have absolutely no energy to make an effort while dressing in the morning.

I grab whatever’s in front of me. Literally. This leaves me taking kids to the daycare in a dark-blue and white stripey skirt, a black and grey spotty cardigan and a T-shirt with a cartoon character on it (which is never appropriate if you’re 34, I don’t really know why I have it in my closet anyway). My hair’s up in a ponytail which is a not-so-secret code for “dirty”. I desperately need a shower. I smell. I’m all gross. Still, I spend the day without doing anything about it, except complaining to the baby about how lazy I am and how I should go jogging. And then I feel even more miserable and have some chocolate instead.

The day passes between the waves of self-pity and self-loathing and it’s already evening.
As I put Molly into bed and give her a sweaty hug, I have already decided to call it a day and curl up in bed. Then she stretches lazily, all cute and cuddly in her night-dress and kisses me back while running her always-so-sticky fingers through my greasy hair and says: “Lijepa mama” (“Pretty mama”). And I almost cry.
This was an hour ago. In the meantime, I took a long shower, washed my hair, did my eyebrows and already chose clothes for tomorrow.
I promise myself I’ll do my best to look the way my sweet daughter sees me. Most of the days at least.

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