I like you.
Not just because you are my daughter, but because you love girly stuff.
You see, Mommy has been surrounded by dirt, farting noises, cars, trucks, tractors and penis talk for years and honestly, it is getting old.
Now that you are into dancing, frilly skirts, tiaras and all things pink, I feel my life is where it should be.
I can put up with burps and holey socks because I know, once a week, you and I will put on your dancing shoes and I will be able to watch you spin and twirl for an entire hour...uninterrupted.
You and I can take trips to the dancing store to buy crowns, tiaras, tutus and hair bows.
Mommy can take pictures of you in your pretty pink tights and bodysuit. We can put your hair up in a pretty bun with a fancy shmancy bow and talk about how pretty you look.
You are always so pretty.
But you already know that because you tell me all of the time.
You can pretend you are Belle from Beauty and the Beast because you seem to think that dancing class will transform you into the pretty girl with the yellow dress.
Then we can come home and you can toot and play with tractors until the next dance class.