As part of my nightly routine, after tucking my daughters in, I retreat to the bathroom to wash my face. It’s a moment of self-reflection where I confront the mirror and embrace the journey of aging at 40. I remind myself that examining the new lines on my face and the more pronounced pores is an act of self-care. I’m not criticizing my age; rather, I’m simply getting acquainted with who I am now. I pluck stray eyebrow hairs, apply toner to my neck, and brush my teeth—each action deliberate and soothing.
One evening, while I splashed water on my face, my youngest daughter, Lily, tiptoed in behind me. “I just need to blow my nose,” she said softly. “Okay,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by the water. As I rinsed my face and lathered soap in circles on my cheeks, I heard her gentle sniffles. A smile crept across my face as I reflected on the years spent waiting for her to master this simple task.
When I finished, I noticed Lily was holding a tissue not just to blow her nose but to shield her gaze as she observed me. It dawned on me that her presence was driven by curiosity—not only about my nightly rituals but also about the broader world ahead of her. Standing tall, I met her shy smile.
This shift in her demeanor began during the summer, a newfound stillness as she sought to understand more about life. In that bathroom, I became the focal point of her inquisitiveness. Dressed in a soft cotton nightgown with delicate straps, I felt exposed as she scanned me. The insecurities from my teenage and college years resurfaced. As a mother of three daughters, I constantly grapple with the pressure to present a polished exterior, fearing it might weigh heavily on their young shoulders—thinner, prettier, stronger, more organized…
“Why do you do that?” she asked, her curiosity unyielding.
“Do what?”
“Everything.”
Taking a moment to respond, I carefully considered the balance I maintain between unwinding and becoming tense. “I guess it’s a treat for myself; it helps me slow down.”
“Why do you want to slow down?” she pressed, her brow furrowing in thought.
“You know how sometimes I tell you to hurry up and other times to take your time?” She nodded. “Well, no one really tells me that. I have to remind myself.” She looked puzzled. “When I come in here at night, it’s like getting a fresh piece of paper to write down my thoughts or create a new picture. I do this so that any rushing or slowing down from the day can be washed away,” I explained.
“But why do you take so long?” she asked, determined to understand, much like she had with that intricate paper lantern we made in Cape Cod.
“Um, I guess it takes me a while. Letting go or finding the right rhythm isn’t easy for me,” I admitted.
“I think your face looks nice when it’s shiny and pink after washing. And you smell good,” she said, moving closer. I wrapped my arms around her, resting my head on hers. The distance between us had noticeably shrunk. After a moment, she stepped back, “When you’re done and not rushing, will you rub my forehead until I fall asleep?”
We exchanged smiles. “Absolutely, I’ll be right in,” I assured her. As she tossed her tissue into the trash, she added, “Oh, and mom, I love your nightgown.” With a skip, she bounded away, the coral and yellow stripes of her nightgown fluttering like ribbons.
In that moment, I realized both Lily and I navigate our days under a constantly shifting microscope. While it may not always provide clarity, occasionally it helps us connect the dots between our experiences, revealing ourselves and our surroundings in a new light.
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Summary
This narrative illustrates the intimate moments of a mother-daughter relationship, highlighting the balance of self-care and parenting. Through nightly rituals, they explore themes of curiosity, self-acceptance, and the shared journey of understanding life’s challenges.
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