I haven't been feeling too attractive lately. I'm pushing maximum density on these jeans, and the five pounds I lost when the little angel started crawling has crept back on due to a steady diet of stolen chicken nuggets and french fries.  I hate my hair.  I wish I were tan.  I wish I had time to do the thirty-mile bike rides of yesteryear, the ones that always whipped me into shape for summer without me necessarily having to do anything else different.  It's hard to ride thirty miles on a highway in ninety-degree heat with a two-year-old. 

I did read the results of a poll lately that said mothers feel more attractive than childless women.  Initially I laughed - the stereotype for mommies is bad hair, no make-up and atrocious denim - but then I thought about it.  It didn't say we LOOK better, it said we FEEL better. 

I was thinking about that and trying to decide what I thought when the little angel walked up to me and examined my pink flip-flops. 

Little Angel:  "Mommy has pretty shoes."

Me: "Why, thank you."

She peered down at my toes, my non-pedicured toes, on which I had slapped a bright coral polish the day before in an effort to seem more "resort," less "white trash."

Little Angel:  "Mommy has pretty toes."

And despite my cellulite, crow's feet and forehead wrinkles, I did feel pretty then.