Babies in general, are beautiful, and the things we grown-ups often find lovely in each other are the things that are lovely in babies. Big eyes, smooth skin and small features are usually considered beautiful, and the models who hitch themselves weirdly down the runways of New York and Paris are usually absurdly young for the clothes they are sort of wearing. “Feminine” is often paired with “young”, in magazines and television, making women over thirty wonder if life is really nearly over when there’s so much left to do. But beauty isn’t really about youth: the beauty that comes with youth is incidental, superficial. It’s gone before a woman has time to become interesting, and her own person. The Mommies at the party were beautiful, laughing at their babies’ antics, joking with each other and enjoying the sunny day. There are few things more beautiful than people laughing from sheer enjoyment. If you’re not feeling happy, it’s hard to appear beautiful. (And if you’re feeling unhappy, your looks are the least of your problems). Forget the sullen catwalk waifs, and the scary, long-necked, colt-legged sixteen year olds wearing sable corsets and six inch heels--that’s not real life. Laughing with a baby who just rubbed cake all over her face, that’s life.
(I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I could give Emily that she would appreciate, so I picked out something I loved, an adorable, flowered baggy-pants sunsuit, in pink and yellow, with a matching bonnet. I can’t wait to see Emily in her new beach togs!)
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