JBO PHOTO

Honestly, friends, I didn’t think my DNA even contained pink.  Some pretty turquoise-ish colors, perhaps, but pink??  And don’t get me started on ballerina stuff.  Yes, I took ballet as a wee child, but my most vivid memory of my dance career is having an exceptionally runny nose during class and repeatedly wiping snot streaks on the long sleeves of my maroon leotard.  Awesome.

It is safe to say that the sparkly princess fairy dust frills of little girl-ness just wasn’t my bag.

So WHY, pray tell, does my daughter insist, through incessant grunts and whines, to wear this dang tu-tu at every given opportunity?  The itchy, stretchy thing was a hand-me-down from a neighbor.  As soon as Bailey sees it, she grabs it with both tiny fists and thrusts it into my lap, her eyebrows knit in urgency.  Yes, the first time I stretched it around her pudgy middle I about died from the cuteness.  But now, I am feeling a twinge concerned.  What’s next??  Dear heavens…am I going to have to learn how to play dolls?  I suppose I need to prepare myself for the very real possibility that Bailey might be girly.

Whoa.

Hey, she’s chosen to pose with a baseball tee and a dog comb.  At least she’ll be a quirky girly-girl.  :)