Otoplasty

In third grade, a boy once read aloud to the entire class a love poem he had written and dedicated to me, the only line of which I recall being "And I love your big Dumbo ears." Though this boy was showering me and my ears with tender affection, I later showered my pillow that night with tears. Up until that point I had felt fine allowing my mother to twist my hair into tight braids the occasional morning before school, but from then on I made sure my hair was always down and styled in a manner that hid the two wind sails on either side of my head.

For years I considered otoplasty, the surgery that pins sticky-outty ears back. I've come to embrace my other physical "goofs;" my large nose, complete lack of height, and small bosoms, but my ears have never failed to embarrass me when exposed.

Until I married Seve. Once again I have a boy showering my ears with love and affection, but this time my pillow is free from water works and able to enjoy several dry nights of sleep. As I walk around with my twin shutters wide open and bare to the world, I often recognize the look of "ugh doesn't she realize how much her ears stick out?" from friends and strangers alike, but if she can do it, why can't I? Of course the benefits of otoplasty still cross my mind when I pass my reflection, but for now, I'm content learning to love my little Wicked Witches of the East and West.

Oh, and I love my new baby boy.