girliest girly girl

“Mama I want my hair like that,” Lovie said from the back seat of the car.

“Like what?”

“Like that,” she answered, pointing toward a building we idled next to while at a red light.

 

I followed her point and saw an image of a woman with her hair all pulled to the back of her head and a big-ass flower holding it all together.

“With a flower,” she added. “A pink one.”

“Oh okay,” I answered. “We can try that some time,” I lied.

 

When I envisioned having children, I saw them running around kicking a soccer ball. I saw them digging in the mud. And playing with cars. And riding bikes.

 

this was taken at picture day for her big dance recital. she was woken from a nap to attend and wasn't too happy to wake up. don't let the face fool you--she's enamored by the gaudy costume.

 

I never once saw them putting on ballet slippers and twirling about in a tutu. I never once saw them playing with baby dolls and loving the color pink. But that’s who Lovie is. She’s ballet and pink and flowers and dollies. She’s all girl. And I love her so much and, truth be told, I’m growing to like the ballet and pink and flowers and dollies, too. I am. But I still can’t help but to think WHO IS THIS CHILD when she oozes girlyness.

dressed all in pink, wanting pink flowers. of course.

 

It still baffles me how crazy girly she is. I mean, she even now does this high pitched squeal thing when something cracks her up on TV. Just like a girl.

riding her big wheel with her first flower FROM A BOY tucked over her shoulder.

 

My girl.

My pink-loving, tutu-wearing, not-wanting-to-get-dirty girly girl.