This post is part 1 of 7 in the series Sugar and Spice & Everything Daughters.
I had muddy feet, constantly. I chased rabbits and danced around in the gutter. Sitting still, sipping tea, and brushing Barbie’s hair were never on my agenda.
I didn’t play girl very well.
All the other girls sold cookies and earned badges. They giggled when boys were around. They brushed their hair and picked out their outfits. I played chicken on the monkey bars. I raced (and beat) the boys in the school mile. I wore oversized Cyclone T-shirts and leggings every. single. day.
I didn’t practice girl very well.
Sports bra? Please. Pony tail? Obviously. Sweat pants? Of course. Boobs and cleavage, mascara and flat irons, the he-said-she-said-never-will-I-ever-cross-your-heart-girl-talking Cool Club never had me fitting in just right.
I didn’t do girl very well.
For as long as I can remember, I never quite matched the mold of “Girl.” When it came to motherhood, I was certain I was not made to have a girl of my own. I couldn’t do girl again.
But then I had you.
You sing. You twirl. You have memorized every. single. princess. Your favorite color is pink. Pink and purple. Anything that sparkles sparks your attention. Birthdays and holidays are the most exciting times, like ever! You bounce with excitement, and you squeak through your smile. You are such a girl. You play it perfectly.
Just yesterday, as I was backing out of the driveway, you ran barefoot out the door waving and yelling, “Mommy, wait!” So I stopped, rolled down my window, and waited for you to come to my side. “I wanna give you a hug,” you tell me, “open the door!” How could I disobey that command? Your pink polished hands stretched across and squeezed me so hard that my heart burst. Never have I ever been loved quite like this.
As I watched your three-year-old blonde curls bounce back into the house, I lost all fear of GIRL. The delicacies, the dance routines, the drama. Darling, for you, I’ll gladly do it over. This time, I’ll be better. I’ll be wiser. I still may never learn to braid your hair, but I’ll find someone who can. Pinky promise.
I never wanted a girl, but then I had you.
Now I am never letting go.
Read more from our Sugar and Spice & Everything Daughters series!
- The Pressure of Raising Girls
- Ribbons and Bows
- The Reluctant Mother to a Daughter
- She’s a Girl, but That Alone Does Not Define Her
- Dreams for My Daughter
- Like Mother, Like Daughter: My Mom’s Effect on How I’m Raising My Daughter