She is pretty

Joan didn’t love her daughter. At least not nearly as much as she loved her husband. People told her that for some mothers it took longer to bond with their newborn, though she had never complained or asked. She did everything a mother did in Jayla’s first year of life. She breastfed her. She changed her diaper. She watched her religiously when it was her shift. Though she had to say that the hardest thing she did during her maternity leave was finishing a coding bootcamp and finding a new job that doubled her salary. When people asked her how she did it, she told them it was challenging. It was. But she loved it. It was like going back to school, a period in her life she felt most in her element. She loved the struggles of studying a new subject, the novelty, the excitement, the plateau, the grind, the obsession, the tears, the resignation, the aha moment. The best part is the exam. What a beautiful and clean way to prove your worth. Your time’s worth. Every minute of sweat and tears translates to a number on a paper. Then, after she graduated and started working, it was a number in her bank account. Joan was good at numbers. She was proud to say she had never let her numbers slip, not even in pregnancy.

She regretted not changing her career earlier. Money was easier if you knew where to look. She loved her new job, except for one thing. Her new team was happy to finally have a female member and babied her. She was lectured gently, applauded comically, at everything she did not do terribly wrong. She hated it. She wanted to run when they barely showed her walking. So she went on her own plan. When she turned three with the company, she was in the most elite group that handled the core business, and the memories of her first working family had long stopped mattering.

Jayla turned four, according to plan too, which was that Joan’s husband would take the lead caring for Jayla while Joan settled into her new career. It was a plan her husband took on by himself. A decade into their marriage, Joan was still amazed by her luck finding this man. His love for her was matched by no one. When Joan asked him why, he said it made him happy. Seeing Joan happy made him happy. Joan trusted him wholeheartedly, knowing he would care for their daughter better than she had ever dreamt of. He did just that, and more: He made Jayla a mini Joan. The mother and daughter already shared many features: the round face, wide nose, big eyes slightly apart, and whatever the father did, maybe the curtain bangs, brought the resemblance to another level. Sometimes Joan jumped at the little girl running towards her with the same thick lips and the same crowded, uneven teeth. It was like an out-of-body experience, her with herself thirty years apart.

But one thing was very un-Joan-like: Jayla thought she was beautiful.

When Joan first saw her daughter comb her thin hair with a brush too big for her tiny hand, barely tall enough to reach the bathroom mirror even on a step stool, she found the imagery odd but sweet. Then she saw Jayla on a taller chair, staring into her own reflection in a reverie, mumbling intelligible words. It gave her an ick. But she became alarmed when the girl checking herself out shed that dreamy look. She appeared too determined, too focused for a four-year-old, and Joan finally made out what her daughter was mumbling,

“I am pretty.”

When Joan told her husband, he laughed it off.

“But she is pretty!” he said.

“Yeah like all the kids are pretty.”

“No like she is pretty,” he responded lovingly and firmly.

“But don’t you think she is a bit too obsessed with herself?” Joan pushed.

“Ha, what’s wrong with that? She is only four.” He laughed like it was all too funny to him.

“Someone is gonna tell her the truth one day.”

“Like she needed everyone’s approval to feel pretty?”

It was a response she didn’t expect. Joan turned to her husband. The smile in his eyes shut down all her upcoming arguments. And to seal the discussion, he continued,

“She looks like the most beautiful woman I know. She will be fine.”

Joan chuckled. He could soften her instantly, even with a lie. He was the first one to shower her with compliments she knew she didn’t deserve. Maybe she was harsh to Jayla. Like her parents had been harsh to her when she was young.

Jayla thought she was beautiful.

And Jayla was beautiful.

To her husband and her own surprise, Joan volunteered to take Jayla to her kindergarten friend’s birthday party. Jayla wanted to dress like a princess, though the party was soccer-themed. But this time, Joan let her and reserved all her opinions on gender stereotypes. When she put rhinestones on her daughter’s face, she saw her own reflection smiling with Jayla in her sparkling eyes. She tried her best to replicate a French braid for short hair she just learned on YouTube and earned herself a one-minute scream from the overjoyed kid. When they settled on a tutu dress outside a plain white shirt at Jayla’s insistence that looked strangely cool, it struck Joan that her four-year-old daughter might be onto something. Unlike her, she might really have a talent for beauty.

The party was made up of boys, tomboys, and Jayla. But she blended right into the play, disappearing into a pool of tiny jerseys with all her puff and layers. Aside from a few compliments, nobody cared about her off-theme attire, not even the adults who made it. Joan knew the parents more on a parents’ chat group level. It was her husband more than her who handled the playdates. But these parents were even nicer than they were online. They heard about her career change while carrying and caring for Jayla. They had many questions for her, but more than questions, amazement and admiration. In the corner of her view, Jayla fished through the party kids, her braid already loose, but she laughed with the widest grin, her pink tutu flapping with her bangs wet into strings.

She was a little fairy child.

And she was pretty.

“I am so happy to finally meet you.” Said a tall, slender woman whose name Joan already forgot. “James told us what you went through to pass that bootcamp. Damn. But what an inspiration! Especially to us mommies.”

Joan was moved by the sincerity in the woman’s big brown eyes. Her eyelashes were distractingly long and curly.

“Aww thank you. I’m lucky I have James’s full support. He is a great dad.”

“And you are a great mom!” The woman’s eyebrows raised, highlighting her dazzling eye features. “It’s time we girlies show our girlies what women can do out there.”

“That is so kind of you to say.” Joan received the woman’s compliment in full, and to heart.

Just in that moment, Jayla snuck out from the kids and dashed towards them. She leaned by the tall woman’s side, holding her legs and gazing up at her playfully. The woman pinched her cheeks with a knowing smirk, like telepathically passing a secret.

Jayla giggled and jumped into Joan’s arms. Then a knowing look passed between the mothers.

This was bonding. Joan said to herself. She wished it hadn’t taken this long to happen. But she was not complaining. She savored the moment as her daughter’s tiny body melted into hers.

The tall woman excused herself. Joan smiled into the red, dewy face of Jayla, who still dangled in her arms, legs going jello.

“What’s her name?” Joan asked.

“I don’t know. She is Stephanie’s mom.” Jayla said nonchalantly, still making faces.

Then she added,

“She is the prettiest person I know.”

Joan pulled Jayla up and put her on her feet.

Yep, it would take longer.