I’ve never been one to understand “girly girls”, though I admit to fancying a glass of wine, high heels and varying shades of make up depending on outfits. Still, had I not birthed this child (and remember every minute with scary detail) I would have doubts as to whether or not she’s mine. Having a girl, well that’s just a whole lot different than boys. Even if my former self who took more women’s studies classes than I can count would argue with me on that, I now know it intimately to be true.
But oh the rewards of girly girls!
The only thing she likes more than babies and princesses is her reflection in the mirror.
Tonight I was playing with her and she, of course, wanted to comb my hair and put make up on me. Though there are knots in my hair that will doubtedly come out before Obama’s second year in office, it felt quite good. How old does she have to get before I can ask for back rubs?
And while the boys brought their skateboards and bikes to the open space at the Lodge, she chose instead to bring stroller and babies. Jeesch.