I love that you say you don’t want to be me when you grow up.
You insist on a simple pony tail with no headband or bow adornment. In your opinion, painting fingernails is a waste of perfectly good video game time. You own just two dresses and one pair of “fancy” shoes, and those are worn under protest.
I love that you complained about dance class and gymnastics.
You prefer field hockey and football. You run like a girl…gloriously fast and strong. You are fearless on the field, and when you tackle a boy during a soccer game, his mom silently cheers and covertly offers me a high-five on the sideline.
I love that you cannot define “traditional”.
You wore a Wonder Woman costume to a princess dress-up party, and the rest of your cosplay wardrobe includes Spider-Man, Darth Vader and a Ninja Turtle. Your career aspirations are police officer, inventor and soldier.
I love that your Barbies are collecting dust.
Your Power Ranger action figures have seen plenty of battle, and your favorite make-believe scenario features a light saber and a conflict between good and evil. At Build-a-Bear, you stroll past the frilly princess bears and have so much trouble choosing between Chewbaka and the Stormtrooper that you convince me get them both. (There’s a BOGO, after all, you say.)
I love that you show no interest in reading Little House on the Prairie.
Your bookshelf holds the entire Captain Underpants series, and you are currently reading your way through Diary of Wimpy Kid.
I love that you turn down every invitation for Frozen sing-alongs.
Elle King’s America’s Sweetheart on the car radio is cause to crank the volume, so you can join me in loudly singing its rock-anthem chorus: “I’m not America’s Sweetheart, but you love me anyway!”
I love that you are brave and strong and live by your own definition of beautiful.
I love that you know your opportunities are limitless and that stereotypes only get in the way.
I love that you are no one but yourself…my one and only original girl.