My little pretty

So of course Sena is the prettiest baby in the entire world. So says Matt.

These are the things she hears on a daily basis.

"Oh, you are the prettiest baby ever. EVER!"

"Could you get any cuter? You just did!"

"How could a baby be so pretty?"

"Is there any baby cuter than you? No! It's impossible."


Now, she doesn't really know what he's saying. Yet...
And she is really cute.

But then I worry. Because that's what I do. She's not even five months old and I worry that she will develop some "cute" complex. And turn into a brat. A cute brat who knows she's cute and therefore can get away with being a brat.

Because she's so cute.

I never grew up thinking I was cute. My parents (thankfully) never commented on my looks or lack thereof. At least, not that I can remember. I didn't really think of myself at all, not until about sixth grade when I went to a new school and realized that I wasn't wearing the "right" clothes. (More on that later).

So I never had an inflated sense of self-esteem. It's kind of hard to go around thinking you're hot stuff when you have an older brother who makes witty observations like, "Is that your face or did your neck throw up?"

Thanks, Jimmy, for keeping it real.

So I told Matt that I didn't want Sena to be hearing how cute she was all the time because it might warp her baby brain.

He thinks about this as I walk back into the kitchen.

Two seconds later I hear him say, "Who has the BEST PERSONALITY in the whole world? Baby Sena does!"