I used to think that parenting a girl meant succumbing to girlydom myself. It kept me up nights during my pregnancy – when we didn’t officially know that the “Squirmy” in my stomach was a girl, but I felt that she was a she.
I’m not a girl. Oh yeah, I’ve got girly parts (hence, mommyhood!). But there’s an eyeliner pencil in my medicine cabinet that I bought in 2001. It’s the only one. Yes, when she hits 12, I’m in deep doo doo.
But I’ve finally closed my eyes tight and stumbled over to the dark side this summer, to the land of bubblegum pink dolly strollers (somebody, help me, please, have mercy!) and frilly bathing suits.
And as we bid goodbye to summer in the Catskills today, I put on my blue boys polo from Old Navy and sat with my daughter, her hair in a high ponytail wrapped with her favorite SassyTail and a t-shirt in its own ghastly shade of pink.
It hasn’t licked me yet!