I really do have the sweetest husband alive.

Last night, we crawled into bed.  I wore a grungy old ADPi tshirt from college, a pair of his boxers, with zit cream & lime-green rollers in my hair (HEY, DON’T JUDGE MY NOD TO 1950, OKAY?!) & he leaned over to kiss me.  “Babe,” he said.  “You’re pretty.”

YOU’RE PRETTY.

I giggled, kissed him, & sat back thoughtfully for a moment.  “Do you think other people find me attractive?” I asked.  Nate looked confused.  “Like, you are REQUIRED by law to worship my stretch marks & think my squinty left eye is kinda cute, but do you think other people look at me & say, ‘she’s pretty?’”

“Yeah,” he drawled.  “I think so.  Because you’re pretty.”

When I was 14, those were the only words I ever wanted to hear from a boy – YOU’RE PRETTY.   I was three years into the hellacious torture that was puberty, but thankfully boys stopped telling me I was ugly to my face after middle school.  But their words still rang in my ears throughout high school & all I wanted, even more than an actual boyfriend, was to hear the words “you’re pretty.”  Like a verbal one night stand.  I wanted validation that I didn’t belong in the dog house, that someone would eventually love & marry me, & that I might, just MIGHT get asked to Homecoming.

I was never asked to Homecoming.  & I never heard the words “you’re pretty” from a boy.  At least, not in high school.

I don’t know what the issue was – The Momma swears it was intimidation, but honestly, I think I just needed to grow into my own skin.  My height embarrassed me, & even though I was slender, I still felt “fat” compared to my size 2 cheerleader counterparts.  I didn’t feel pretty & I swore until a boy told me I was pretty, I wouldn’t feel it.  Oh, the insecure heart of a 14-year-old girl.

I did eventually get a boyfriend.  He was a great first boyfriend.  (He would have been the worst last boyfriend ever.)  & you know what?  I can’t remember if he told me I was pretty.  I’m sure he did.  But by the time that boyfriend rolled around, it didn’t matter.  I had moved past that insecurity & was growing into my role as business student, sorority president, & newly minted lover of 3-inch heels.  I didn’t crave that verbal validation.

& I haven’t in years.  But last night, feeling rather frumpy as a new mom with zit cream & hair rollers, I wanted to know that I was attractive.  Flabby ass & grungy tshirt pajamas be damned.  & thank God that now, I have a boy to tell me that he thinks I’m pretty.  & then tackle me in the sack to prove it.

-

p.s.  this is so not a fish for compliments post.  but the letters to your younger self that everyone was writing yesterday made me think of this.