She gently ran her finger across the scar on my lower abdomen and giggled. We were lying on the bed, relaxing after a serious tickle fest. She had wanted to see it again.
"That's how the doctors took you out of Mommy's belly," I said.
She looked at it, with wonder in her eyes.
"Baby," she said.
"Yes, you were just a tiny baby."
Words like, "scar" and "keloid" mean nothing to her. She's only two years old. She doesn't think of it as ugly.
She loves to hear the story of the day she was born. I tell her about how Daddy stayed with her while Mommy's surgery was being finished. How she and her nurse had the same name.
I explain how as I lay on the operating table, a nurse came in to tell me her stats (7 lbs 6 oz, 19 inches long), gushing that she was, "So cute!" That I ached to have her in my arms, and was jealous Daddy got to hold her first.
I say her grandparents were there, so anxious to finally meet her. Describe how they watched through the window while Daddy and her nurse took care of her, and took lots of pictures.
I describe the moment she was brought to me. How we went skin to skin and she nursed at my breast for the first time. How I inspected her tiny little fingers and toes and marveled at her perfection. How my whole world was in my arms at that very moment.
"And now," I say playfully in my Cookie Monster voice, "I'm going to eat those toes!"
I grab her foot and pretend to eat her toes, and she squeals with laughter. Then she slips off the bed and runs out of the room, wanting me to chase her.
I quickly run my own finger across the scar on my abdomen. It may be ugly to me, but it represents a joy beyond measure. And there is a divine beauty in that. I pull my pants up and rise from the bed.
"I'm coming to get you," I shout out, smiling.
I am participating in The Red Dress Club weekly writing meme. This week's assignment was to write a short piece, either fiction or non-fiction, about something ugly - and find the beauty in it. This post was inspired by a moment with my daughter that took place just this week.
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