The natural-born need to look good was never more apparent to me than after I had children. At the age of 2, Aidan had become quite insistent on picking out his own clothes in the morning. His main focus was to make sure that his outfits "matched" before leaving the house for pre-school. He had to "look good" and his favorite of such matching outfits was an orange t-shirt paired with orange sweatpants. The ensemble was never complete without his orange and black, Halloween themed, pumpkin socks (regardless of time of year). Classic. Tiny Aidan, however, had nothing on Cate. She was born wearing heels and covered in sparkles. Catie loves to "look good". Unfortunately, her definition of looking good does not always coincide with my idea of style. I think my favorite look of her's, to date, would have to be her short, silver, shiny gymnastic shorts layered on top of her argyle patterned leggings, matched with a sequined tank top and hot pink, fur vest (bought as part of a Halloween costume). I have no idea where she got the idea that such a thing could pass as an outfit and, believe me, she has never left the house in it. Nor has she left the house with makeup on her face. Oh yes, on top of her new found sense of style, Cate has also begun experimenting with makeup. The shinier and more colorful, the better. I think the best example of this new hobby was witnessed one morning during Christmas vacation. I was on my way down the stairs and could hear the kids bickering. Apparently, as Cate sat down at the table, Aidan turned to her and said, "What's wrong with you? You look like a superhero." He was absolutely right. She turned my way and I had to hide my giggles behind my hand. She had applied her new, purple eyeshadow (thank you, Aunt Rhiannon) very thickly from one eye to the other, without skipping the bridge of her nose. She looked like a purple version of the Lone Ranger. Another classic.
I have been thinking about this innate need for physical beauty and acceptance a little bit lately, ever since my surgeries. When going in for my THR's, I knew what I was getting into medically and physically. I knew what it would take to recover and heal. I also knew that my appearance would change drastically. When you enter the hospital for surgery, you not only leave your dignity at the door, you also leave your vanity. However, you never really comprehend what a 7 inch scar will look like until you are able to actually see it on your own person. Really, they are not that bad. As previously mentioned, things could always be worse. However, they are quite noticeable and will be somewhat difficult to conceal on the Floridian beaches next month. Maybe if I find myself an orange bikini, pair it with an orange pair of board shorts, and brush on a nice, sparkly, purple superhero mask, the scars won't be that noticeable after all!