Pretty little princess

I am not sure how we are doing it ... but it appears that Dave and I are raising a little princess in more than one respect. It is apparent that she is beautiful like a princess when you look at her. I don't know how it happened but we ended up with a real looker on our hands. With her remarkable blue eyes and her rosey irish skin she is, in my humble opinion breathtaking. I will take some of the credit because an awful lot of people say she looks an awful lot like me... having a child has helped my self confidence immensely.

But she is a princess in other less obvious ways also. She is one of the most careful children I have ever seen. She reaches for things only after she is entirely certain that it is something that is worthy of the reach. She is not crazy about gooey or sticky and will holler if her diaper isn't changed with in seconds of having been soiled. Then there is the fact that my little princess is not a real fan of rough housing. The typical things that get gales of laughter from babies her age instead get dubious looks and fussiness. Whirling through the air or flying like an airplane makes her sick. I found a really cool website where you use your baby like weights to get back in shape. It is supposed to be fun for baby and good for mom.... not on your life thank you very much. I didn't get through three arm curls before I decided I had better quit and I even added a kiss on her forehead each time that wasn't in the instructions. Alas, poor mom is stuck forever with her baby bump. It isn't so bad having a princess. My niece is a princess also and we love having tea parties and playing dress up with her. I suppose that it will be easier to keep a princess clean and the dreams of wonderfully beautiful little dresses will not all be for naught. I am enchanted with my daughter so whatever she becomes is fine by me. I just wonder HOW it happened.

Dave is a boy... still. I often feel like I am a mom calling out warnings to my wayward husband and knowing that it is all for naught. He is bound to remember my warning after disaster has already struck. I love him dearly, and he keeps me young. But I still know that Dave is and was a boy. A dirty grimey trouble loving boy. I was a tomboy. Maybe not as much as some of the other girls that I can think of, but non the less a tom boy. I could climb a tree with the best of them. As a matter of fact often in my church dresses much to the chagrin of my mother who dressed me as a princess often. I did not own a doll that had all of its hair after a few days and they often were left to the toybox after their shearing. I went fishing with my daddy and hooked my own worm. I shot my brother in the chest with an arrow ( long story) and one of my best friends when we lived on the farm was a bull. ( yes a real live bull he was a sweety loved me hated my brother! What can I say smart fella.) Never a tea party in sight. Of course with my brother so close in age any tea party would probably have been laid seige to by G. I. Joe or worse.

When I found out that it was a girl I started waxing poetic about the different things I would do with a girl... I would teach her how to bake and I would dress her up in pretty dresses, we would have tea parties. You know the regular mommy daughter things. My mom warned me that if there was karma I would end up with a barbie hating tom boy who wanted to spend all of her time in the dirt. Well we have a bit of time before I can be certain... but I think that my mother just may be wrong on this one.