I love being the mother of a boy. I love the rough, crazy energy of him, the obsession with things that go, the indestructible way he runs at the world, his simple love of dirt.
But there is a tiny part of me that is still pulled towards things pink and pretty. There's a little part of me that remembers what it felt like to be a small girl who dreamt of prima ballerinas and believed with all my soul in fairies. There's a small part of me that still longs for all things frilly.
And so, given that most of John's friends happen to be girls, this Christmas I indulged my girlishness. I made tutus and fairy wands for all the little girls I know, and drowned myself in a sea of pink tulle in those short nights before Christmas.
And even though there was a part of me that felt it was silly, and another part of me that was too busy to feel anything at all, the six year old girl of me was in heaven, simply looking at so much prettiness.