I’m doing my best to not soften her edges, to not tame the flyaways, to keep her from worrying about her presence in the world around her.
I want her to stay wild like a dandelion that sprouts up in the middle of a kept lawn, blooming and taking up space wherever she’d like.
When she thinks about her belly I hope it’s about how full she is (of goldfish and yogurt and frozen blueberries), and not about how big or small it might be.
I want her to laugh loudly with her gummy smile. To dance with every part of her body. To love hard. To be big and brave and stronger than a lot of people might like a girl to be.
Most of all I desperately want her freedom from the chains of others opinions and desires.. even my own.
But the hardest part of it all? Holding myself to her same standards.
