Prior to Sassafras, I always wanted and believed I'd have boys. B-O-Y-S. I literally prayed for three boys, two of them being twins. With brown curly hair. Rowdy, stinky, gross, noisy, pee-anywhere, bone-breaking, stitch-getting boys. Three of 'em. I didn't think myself emotionally hardwired for little ladies.
The fact is, the jury is still out on that.
But this little thing right here? Her age (6) is so exactly just so very perfect, to tell the truth. She is little enough to be best friends with her mama but she is big enough to actual contribute to lengthy and entertaining conversations. Baby days are great, but this little time period of truly getting to know who your kids are and getting a glimpse of just who they might get to be one day? It's the real sweet spot of this whole parenting gig.
Sassafras loves looking at makeup (and maybe getting a dash of powder every now and again-scandalous, I know), and she is just now studying the whole process of matching up her clothes. Lots of "Can I wear my boots with this, Mama?" and "Will this shirt go with these pants?" and learning how the hair bow or head band or whatever needs to complement the outfit.
And then there are days like THIS one, where the baby botches it so badly that all a mama can do is laugh and take a picture.
It is outrageously fun to be her mother. Every time I look at her or her sisters, I think about how grateful I am to not have gotten what I wanted in those three boys.