I love having a girl. I do.
And I’m 100% sure I gave birth to this one.
But somedays I do wonder how it is possible that SHE is MINE.
But a lot of her is not me at all.
The princess pose. Not me.
Sitting as long as requires to have her hair styled. So not me. (Obviously, as evidenced by the terrible job I did as the styler.)
When my girl (who can’t possibly be mine) was invited by her favorite guy to attend the Daddy/Daughter princess ball, she was ALL IN! At about 4 pm she announced a desperate need to start the preparations for the party. After all, it was only TWO AND A HALF HOURS until her date would pick her up. Seriously.
And she had a precise plan about how the getting ready would go down. Including, but limited to…
a specific dress, bow, and shoes (slightly adapted when one aurora shoe was determined to be out of commission),
And hiding away until her Daddy was completely ready to receive her.
Apparently, I almost ruined this part, without knowing the plan. I was talking to RRL on the phone while I fixed her hair, briefly mentioned that we were curling away and looked down to horror on her face. “Mommmmm. He can’t know, yet.” Oh, excuse me. Top secret.
RRL got home, changed clothes and waited at the bottom of the stairs (per princess instructions).
The look on her face as she took his hand literally took my breath away. I could fast forward all too easily in my mind to a place I’m not ready to go quite yet. TIME.STOP.NOW.
She posed for the going away photos and I’m pretty sure danced on air the rest of the evening.
All the while I was wearing comfy sweats, hair in a bun, gathering belongings and hydrating for a 5k I was running the next AM. We were both in our (polar opposite) happy places.
I sure love my little Lou and the girly pizzaz she adds to our family.
What would we do without the princess factor?