My sweet sweet little burrita of a girl turned FIVE, people.
I didn’t cry.
I hugged her a lot. We “high fived”, and I’ve taken to just calling her “Five” because it makes her grin ear to ear.
I gave her barbies and slutty barbie clothes with sky high platform heeled whore boots and mini skirts because that is what she wanted. Things I promised myself I would never EVER purchase for her (to my credit, they were freecycled, so I didn’t actually purchase the Barbies, but I did buy her six whore outfits for those damn dolls).
She and her little brother sit and play dress up with the barbies, stripping them down to nothing over and over and over…always needing help with the damn whore shoes. I can’t get them on either, and I think it’s a testament to the fact that they shouldn’t exist in the first place. But she asked for them. And she is amazing. So she can have them on her 5th birthday. I’m confident that one of every pair will go missing by April, having slipped down a heater vent or been thrown into a couch cushion by her pesky little brother.
She also received art supplies and chapter books and poetry and a flower press.
She colors obsessively on everything, drawing rainbows and people and writing “Love Mommy Daddy Rhys Darian” on every piece of paper.
She wrote out all of the names on her birthday party invitations using a pen we got her that has all the different colored inks, where you push up the color you want to use. I was only allowed to write my part in one color.
She skips most of the vowels, which is developmentally appropriate and makes me realize that vowels are really optional anyway. I learn from her every day.
Today she wore a Tie-dyed shirt, brown and white giraffe print skirt, and black and white polka dot leggings. She IS fashion, and wears the shit out of every outfit, making her momma so damn proud.
She calls herself SparklePony. And she sparkles brilliantly.