Who Needs New York?

Since she was a wee one, the Libster has had an undeniable love for one thing: dress up.

Other fads have come and gone, but to date, this is one is here to stay.

What is it with girls and our desire to be someone we're not?

A princess, a fairy, a bumble bee, a rock star, a cowgirl.....

Why is it not enough to just be who we are?

 I mean, don't get me wrong- there's not much that's cuter than Libby sporting pantie hose that are two sizes too small and a backwards cat costume, but still I'd love to think that she'll one day be content to be nothing more than Libby.

My wish for her (there are many, but I try to limit myself to one wish per post) is that she, unlike so other many great girls out there, will ultimately be happy with herself.

One of my biggest fears for her as she prepares to start kindergarten this fall is the idea that little girls are mean, plain and simple. They say hurtful things, pull hair, whine, tease, and yell. They point out anything that can pass as a fault and pick, pick, pick until someone cries.

They're hateful, cruel, and down-right no fun at all.

I don't think it matters if you're the most beautiful, brilliant, fabulous girl out there, the truth is the truth, and being a girl is tough stuff.

I'm dreading the first day she comes home crying about being teased and picked on at school;  I know it will chip away at the ticker in my chest.

But for now, I sit and do the only thing I know to do: I love the heck out of her and try to instill in her that she is wonderful in so many ways, no matter what anyone might say.

I want her to love herself despite her half curly, half straight, all messy hair that she inherited from yours truly.

I hope she can be proud of the fact that she's sillier than most and can outsmart a Rubik's cube...at age four.

I pray she'll be able to laugh at herself when she trips and pick herself up when she falls.

And I hope she'll be able to see that she is one heck of an amazing kid despite what society will tell her she's 'supposed' to be.

I know this won't last forever; her days of dress up are limited, no matter how much I hate to admit it.

Until the day when dress up is no longer 'cool', I'll keep my camera handy and try not to complain about picking up the ump-teenth pair of 'fancy shoes'.

And until that dreaded day comes, you'd better move over New York- here comes Libby- the coolest five-year-old I know.