Let There Be Santa

Kids, I'm going to burst your bubble.

There is no Santa Claus.

WHAT?  Shocker!

But there isn't a Santa Claus.

I hope by the time you are old enough for me to give you these letters, you already know this, and you aren't staring at these words like a bully who just crushed your juice box.

I hope you know we don't celebrate Christmas because of Santa Claus.

I hope we've told you enough about Jesus' birth and how He changed the world because of it, that you aren't shocked and surprised when you find out there's more to Christmas than presents and a big fat guy coming down the chimney.

I hope your heart is set for the true meaning of Christmas - giving to others in the spirit of which we were given the most precious gift, and the thankfulness that God saw our desperate need for rescue from our separation.

But I also hope you had a lot of fun on Christmas, too.

I hope you remember the times we spent decorating the tree together as a family.  I hope you remember the hot chocolate and Christmas cookies.  Visiting Santa at the mall and truly believing this man was going to your house and every other house in one night to bring presents.  Telling him those wishes of presents that you were too embarrassed to even tell Mom and Dad for fear of the "you'll shoot your eye out" rejection.  The anticipation of Christmas vacation during school, and that awesome moment when the bell rings on the last day of school in December.  The night before Christmas when you just can't sleep because you know how much fun the next day will be.  And Christmas morning when you rush to the living room to see all the wrapped treasures under the tree, and ripping them open with such delight because you got the very thing you wanted.

The wonderment, the amazement, the magic.

Your Daddy and I have discussed at length about our responsibility as Christian parents during the Christmas season.  We have heard all the theories - If you let your kids believe in Santa, why would they still believe you about Jesus?  Believing in Santa skews your children's ability to understand the true meaning of Christmas.  Santa is just Satan with the letters rearranged!  (I'm totally not kidding about that one, either.)

But we realized we were both brought up in homes where Santa was enjoyed, but Jesus was celebrated.  Neither of us equated Santa with Jesus.  We weren't mad at our parents for "lying" to us about Santa.  In fact, we figured it out on our own but didn't want to tell our parents in fear they would squash all the fun.

So we decided to let there be Santa.  To let you watch and wait for the reindeer and sleigh on Christmas Eve, staying up way after bedtime in hopes of hearing hooves land on the roof.  To leave cookies and milk and a carrot for Rudolph out by the tree (I think Your Daddy just want to eat the cookie), with a letter thanking Santa for the gifts.  To watch the movies and read the books and sing the songs and color the pictures.  To wonder about how the fat guy really does get to every house in just a few hours, even the ones without chimneys.  To imagine what the North Pole Command Center looks like, trying to keep up with all those children and who is naughty and nice.  To test just how bad you have to be to get on the naughty list. 

And at the same time that our house is decorated with elves, trees, and Santas, you will see the Baby Jesus, wrapped in swaddling clothes with Mary and Joseph and the angels singing "Glory to God in the highest!"  You will hear us read Luke, Chapter 2, and you will spend an entire month in Sunday School on it.  You will learn the words to O Holy Night and Away in a Manger and The First Noel.  We will light candles on Christmas Eve at church and for a moment, everything will be so still and so quiet and so holy that you will want to cry and rejoice, all at the same time.

And you will realize that there is something more to Christmas than presents and lights.

  There is a baby who came into the world, to grow with us, to be with us, and to love us.  A baby who was God Himself, who humbled Himself to be small and helpless and unrecognizable.  

That this baby would grow to be a man who would save the very people who chose to nail Him to a cross.  Then He would raise from the dead to a people who try their hardest not to believe it.  And that He is coming again, to rescue us AGAIN because we keep burying our head in the ancient sand that holds us to ourselves and separates us from His Holy Presence.  

But next time, He won't be so quiet.

There's a completely different and unmatched wonderment in the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  You won't question it.  You won't be afraid that the fun will end because Santa doesn't exist.  You'll understand that it's only the beginning of something wonderful.  Something amazing.  Something bigger than just a tree or a stocking.  

It's life.  It's truth.  And so much more satisfying.

So yes, let there be Santa.  Let Santa lead to the discovery of the true meaning of Christmas.  Santa is "Saint Nicholas" after all - a missionary spreading the love of Christ by giving gifts to the poor.  Find magic and fun in Santa, but find hope and joy in knowing Jesus Christ.

Jesus is so much better.

Two Months Old

I'm a few days late for your two month update, but that's alright!

We have had a blast with you this past month.  You did lots of things.

Like smile for the first time.  You are trying to laugh, but can't quite get it right.

And your first trip to BanBen's house in Birmingham - complete with the Birmingham Zoo and a little football watching.

You went to Mom's office a few times.

And then you went to daycare.

You had your first Halloween.

You dressed as Mickey to Big Sister's Minnie.  So stinking cute.  

There was a costume parade at school, and then we trick or treated with Big Sister that night.

We also visited a pumpkin patch.  Big Sister thought it was the funnest thing ever.  You were less than impressed.

You finally realized that there is another little person in the house besides you.  You recognize Big Sister's voice and follow her around the room.

She is so sweet and helpful to you.  She loves to take a bath with you and washes your toes.  

One of your daycare teachers said she was walking around with you in her arms, and went into Big Sister's classrooms.  Everyone was oohing and awwwing and one of the kids said, "I want a baby!"  And Big Sister said, "NO!  He is mine."

BanBen came to our house for the weekend.

We all went to the Peanut Festival Parade and Fair.

Again, less than impressed with the parade.

You are beyond sweet and love to snuggle.

We've finally broken you of sleeping on top of me at night.  The first night was rough, but you (and I) survived.  You now sleep in the pack-n-play beside our bed, all snuggly in your sleep sack.  

You're still waking once or twice a night.  You can't help it.  You're hungry.

Daddy insists that you wear these horrible colors.

At your two month check up today, you were 11.4 pounds and 23.5 inches long.  Dr. Freeman says you are perfect and growing right on track.  

Everyone we see comments on how handsome you are.  Of course you are!  You look just like Daddy.  The resemblance between you, Big Sister, and Daddy are uncanny.

But you love Mama.  Oh, how you love Mama.  You wait not-so-patiently for that time at night when Big Sister goes to bed so I can pick you up and snuggle you really close before bedtime.  The other night I was doing things around the house while you fussed in your bouncy seat.  As soon as I picked you up, you started cooing and smiling and quickly fell asleep sound in my arms.

Boys do love their mamas.

You have changed so much in the past two months.  I laid you down last night to put on your pjs and realized just how big you've gotten and how quickly you are progressing.

Sometimes I wish time would stand still, but I know it's not possible.  And as much as I love this newborn stage, I know it's fleeting.  And I know how much fun the next few stages are after our experiences with Big Sister.  I am so looking forward to your next milestones!

Our New Normal

I'm not going to lie.

This is hard.

I had forgotten what it's like to have a newborn constantly demanding things from me - feed me, burp me, change me, hold me, don't hold me, put me down, pick me up, bounce me, rock me, sing to me, don't sing to me...I am never satisfied but keep trying!

And then we have the toddler demanding things from us - hold me, take me to the potty, no I don't have to potty, give me a Skittle, I want some milk, a cheesestick, I want to watch Dora, no I want to watch Mickey, come to my room, I don't like my socks, go get Mouse for me, I don't want to walk, my seatbelt is too tight, I want some juice, with ice...PWEEEEEEASE!

There are some evenings when we get home from work/daycare, that I don't sit down until everyone has gone to bed.

It's exceedingly hard when Your Daddy is working.  He works the evening 12 hour shift, so he is gone 6p-6a three to five nights a week.  On his work nights, I am by myself, tending to both of you on my own, unless I shamelessly go over to your GiGi's house to spread the duties...I mean, love.  Totally mean love.

On Your Daddy's work weekends, I am spent by Sunday night.  I am so glad I have Mondays off work to recover.

There are always piles of laundry to be washed and folded, especially since JP has so very limited clothing options, and Brooke Allen only has three pairs of jeans.  Every night there is dinner and toy pickup, followed by pjs and bedtime stories.  After bedtime is bottle and dish washing, and whatever other chores need to be completed.  Your Daddy has stepped up his housecleaning game, and I am so thankful for that.

Somehow, a 7 week old baby has sent our world into a tailspin.  I feel like we are constantly trying to catch up.  Like a horse always trying to catch the carrot on the lead in front of him.

But this is our new normal.

And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Because the toys all over the floor means we have an active toddler who has a huge imagination.  So huge she forgets where she is, and thinks she is in a castle with Rapunzel, or Doc McStuffins on duty, or Cinderella with a broken carriage.

The bottles in the sink mean we have a hungry, healthy, happy little boy who just wants to eat and eat and eat, and we are able to provide him nourishment.

The clothes in piles mean my family has warm and suitable clothing, and we don't have to worry about such a basic need.

The dust on the furniture means I found more important things to do on a Sunday night, like watching a movie on a pallet in the floor with popcorn and my sweet family.

The unmade beds are warm and well slept.  The diaper pails are full.  The fridge and milk jug quickly empty.  The pop tart crumbs grind into the carpet.  The trash overflows.  The dog constantly barks for food and water.  The storybook binding is breaking.  Brooke Allen's artwork has overtaken the fridge and dining table.  It's never quiet.  Always crying, squealing, yelling, laughing, or even just the buzz of the baby monitors.  Your Daddy and I have gone from long date nights, to date moments, stealing a few moments of kissing or dancing right in the midst of the mess surrounding us.

While my head may be constantly ticking down the list of things to do and clean and places to be, my heart is sitting right there, in the middle of that mess, watching...

Watching my children be happy, well fed, well loved, and full of life.

Watching my husband pour what little energy he has left after working into his children, and being the best daddy I could ever ask of him for them.

Watching my little family of four grow and blossom and be everything I have ever dreamed.

I love our new normal.

All photos courtesy Sabrina Halcomb Photography. 

If You Don't Want Jesus

I've given a lot of thought to this particular subject, unsure on how to approach it with you.  To even think about such things causes major aches in my heart that I'm not ready to face yet.  Oh, how it hurts to even imagine this mountain that we someday could try to cross.  Afraid to plant a seed in your head that will grow to your heart.

What if you don't want Jesus?

It's a very real and practical possibility.

When you grow up and become your own person separate of Mommy and Daddy, you are going to have to make that choice.  Do I really believe in what I've been told my whole life?  Do I want to dedicate my life to something so big that I can't even fully understand?  Are my parents lunatics?  Is this even real?

Truth be told, it's hard to be a true believer in this era.  Heresy and false teachers abound, leading people to believe things that are in direct opposition to the gospel.  Evil is so prevalent in our Sodom and Gomorrah society that it is hard for people to grasp the concept of a Good God.  American Atheism is at an all time high.  

You will grow up in a region surrounded by religion.  This is not some third world country practicing foreign voodoo religions.  You will think everyone around you knows Jesus and goes to church.  There are plenty on each corner to choose from.  But these same kids that you grow up with, assuming they are Christian, will be some of the most un-Christian people you will ever know.  You'll see hypocrisy, sacrilege, conceit, greed, and egotism that far outweighs the amount of Godly influences you will have.  

And then you'll go to college.  You'll meet people who consider themselves "free thinkers" when all they are really doing is searching for a truth too.  You'll have professors who can speak freely about their disdain for the Church and organized religion.  You'll be faced with all the temptations of being 18 years old and on your own.

Everything you know you have been taught will be questioned.

It is at that point that you have to choose - no matter what decision you made as a younger child.

Is this really it?  Is this really real?

And this is where that knot grabs hold of my throat so tight that I have to have a few gulps of water to wash it down.

This crossroad will be the most important one you will ever come to.  I can't make or change your mind for you.  You have to do it on your own.

What I can do is give you as many examples of Jesus as possible.  To be a living, breathing, walking, serving, loving, tangible piece of Jesus, so that when the hypocrisy and heresy creeps up behind you, you have something to remember.  Not only does Mom tell you about Jesus, she shows you about Jesus.

That my heart is so overcome and overwhelmed by a loving God that it can't help but overflow and fill you up.  That I will pour out my life for you so completely that when you begin to question it, you really don't because it makes so much sense that there isn't anything else for you to consider.

Because that's what Christ did for me.

You will often hear that the best witness you can bear doesn't have to filled with factoids, theology, and memory verses.  It's about Jesus, and the personal relationship and experiences that you have with Him.

So what did Christ do for me?

He took a seed of belief planted by my parents when I was young, and turned it into something beautiful that is still blooming and growing.  He took my broken heart over losing my father and made it whole again.  He reached for me so many times when I was running.  He grabbed my attention when I wasn't expecting it, and destroyed me so quickly that I had no choice but to look for Him.  And when I looked, I found.  And when I found, I was restored.  And through His Holy Restoration, I am searching deeper and deeper about my purpose for Him, and He is guiding me ever so gently, revealing pieces one at a time until my journey is complete.

One piece He has already revealed is my purpose as a mother - to create disciples right here in my home.  

Sure, I've got all my motherly duties - feed, clothe, bathe, wipe hinies, clean, clean, and clean some more.  But this is so much more important.  You will never remember me wiping your butt, but you will remember me kneeling beside your bed to pray with you.  You will remember the times we left you in Sunday School to grow your knowledge.  You will remember the times you heard me sing praises.  You will remember the Bible stories, the VBS summers, and the life verses.  You will remember all the conversations that we have about Jesus and why He did choose to die on the cross.

Because I pray that you will remember these things.  That God will write them on your heart, and bind them to your head.  That when you are faced with that decision as a young adult, you will remember your mother kneeling beside your bed, praying words of truth and freedom over your precious head.  And you will remember all the times God revealed Himself to you, even though you may not have been aware of it.

Because He does.  So many times over.  

It's my job to cultivate your relationship so that you recognize that heart tug, that divine appointment, that precious moment in a still silence.

It's hard.  It's so hard.  I've been there.  We are told we will be hated, we will suffer, and we will die for the cause of Christ.  And while it sounds pretty miserable and stuffy and binding, it isn't.  It's freedom.  It's unchained and mesmerizing and joyful.

Don't be scared to tell me if you're feeling like you can't choose Jesus.  I know you will feel like you are disappointing me, and in all honesty, you will be.  I will be disappointed if you don't choose this life for yourself.  But don't consider my life's work done.  I will never stop praying for you, even if you don't want to hear it.  I will never stop being Jesus to you, even if you don't want to see it.  I will never stop loving you, even if you don't want to feel it.

Because that's what Christ did for me.  For you.  For all of us.

A Plea for Modesty

This post has been on my mind for quite some time.  It's actually come up in conversation with multiple people, which usually means God is trying to tell me something.

I think that something is to urge me to teach my children about the importance of modesty.

We live in a hyper-visual society.  Our faces are glued to screens 90% of the day - our work computer, our smart phones, our tablets, our televisions, our Facebooks, our Instagrams, our Twitters, our blogs, etc.  Our minds are flooded with millions of visual images a day - charts and graphs, graphic news images, duckface portraits, advertisements for cheeseburgers, and viral videos.

I'll admit it - I am addicted.  I post multiple times a day on Instagram.  Photos of my children, my food, my dog, my shoes, and sometimes, myself.  And I love Facebook.  I try to paint an accurate picture of what life is like in the Parrish household.

But am I accurately painting a picture of myself too?

There is something about social media that boosts self-confidence.  If I post a selfie, I measure my worth in "likes."  Whoa!  Ten people like my photo of myself holding my coffee cup!  Fifteen people think my kid is really cute shoving spaghetti in her mouth!  A whopping eighty-eight likes on JPs very first picture - must have done something right!

But there is also something about social media that allows people to be free of limitations.  To hide behind an avatar to say things to strangers that they wouldn't say to their face.  To post inappropriate photos in hopes of garnering more "likes" to measure against themselves.  To send that photo that supposedly only lasts 10 seconds that they would never send to last forever.  To create an alternate reality that lets them be someone else.  

This is where girls fall in a web of tangled lies about their self-worth and lose all sense of themselves, just for a few clicks or thumb taps.

Brooke Allen, you are more than the word "like."

As you grow older, the monstrosity that has become social media will be even bigger and even more harmful.  I'm scared for you.

So this is why we are starting to teach you modesty even at your young age.

Quite frankly, I am appalled at some of the clothes that are deemed acceptable being sold in stores and boutiques.  Call me a prude or a goody two shoes or whathaveyou, but holy moley.  Don't nobody want to see all that.

Oh wait, I take that back.  There are plenty of people who want to see that.  The boys in your class.  The creepy old man down the street.  The not-so-creepy man sitting in your church service.  The guy you don't know cruising your Facebook pictures at home alone.

And most importantly, your future husband.

I have to fight my motherly urge sometimes to cover up girls' shoulders at church or to hand them a pair of pants that fit properly or to send them a message on Facebook that tells them their photos are inappropriate.  I absolutely cringe at some of the homecoming/prom dress styles that are so fashionable.  Legs, boobs, and backs - all in one!  And skintight to boot!  And don't even get me started on Halloween costumes.

Let's get one thing out of the way - no way, no how will this be allowed in or outside of our house.  Not happening.  Don't get the nerve to ask.  Don't even get the nerve to think about it.

Clothes are a wonderful thing.  I love clothes.  I love to shop, I love to look at fashion magazines, I love to see what the latest trends are and incorporate them into my wardrobe.  I love bright colors, classic shapes, and shiny accessories.  

I love to shop with Your GiGi, and I hope this becomes a fun thing that you can enjoy with us.  We like to take weekend trips to go shopping in Birmingham and Atlanta, and Black Friday is always one of our favorite days!

But you have to be mindful of what goes on your body.  What you wear is a direct reflection of what's in your heart.

In Christian life, modesty is so important.  There are several big reasons why:

1.  Reserve yourself for your husband.  Let your husband be the only person who gets to see that part of you.  Even if it's your future husband.  He will so appreciate that he is the only one special enough to be let in.  Create a boundary that only he is allowed to cross - a boundary that begins with your shirt's neckline.

2.  Respect other women's husbands.  Erase that message of "leave a little something for the imagination."  You should be leaving a LOT to the imagination.  A mental picture is something you can't take back from someone.  Don't even come close to the line that gives them the opportunity to begin to imagine.

3.  Don't be a distraction.  You might not think that your cute little spaghetti strap boutique dress is harmful.  You may get lots of compliments on it from other girls.  But your bare shoulders or lower thighs are just enough to be a stumbling block for the boys in your Sunday School class.  Instead of hearing the message or listening to you sing in the choir, he's focused on your legs.  And you may never know it.

4.  Back to social media - stay away from the temptation to post suggestive photos online.  Choose photos of you appropriately dressed with certain body parts covered or out of view.  You don't need those "likes" to feel good about yourself.  You also don't want people looking at those photos that don't have good intentions.  Those guys who comment on every picture about how beautiful you are?  They aren't nice.  Stay away from them.  And stay away from the duckface pictures and constant selfies - they scream, "LOOK AT ME!" and make you an easy target for low self-esteem and creeps.

5.  Respect your decision to be a Christian.  Christian means to be "like Christ."  As cliche as this sounds, would you send that Snap to Jesus?  Probably not.  So don't send it to cute boy on the corner.

6.  Respect yourself.  Period.  Choose clothing and pictures that reflect that you value yourself so much that you refuse to be on display for hungry eyes.

Am I suggesting that you should wear turtlenecks and ankle length skirts?  No, absolutely not (although Your Daddy may find this to be a good idea).  But you should be so careful about your clothing choices.  Put a sweater on over your dress.  Make sure your skirt length is appropriate standing and sitting.  Check the gap in the back of your jeans when you sit down.  Choose shorts that still cover everything if you sit cross legged on the ground.  Leggings are not always the answer to a short skirt or top if we can still see your behind.  If you are unsure of something, ask someone you trust - me, Your Daddy (again - he may not be the best help), a good girlfriend that has the same values in modesty.

  And good gracious, if you have to keep tugging at it to stay in place, it doesn't fit and you should throw it away.  The size number on the tag does not matter - the fit does.  

And JP?  My gorgeous boy who will grow into being a visual creature, as most men are.  If a girl doesn't follow these guidelines, you don't want her.  Because she doesn't respect herself, she doesn't respect you, and she doesn't respect your commitment to being a man of faith.  Women have a jezebel power over men that dates back to the beginning of time.  Don't succumb to that power.  Stand strong and wait for the woman who wants to give you all the respect you deserve.  Guard your mind against these visual temptations so that you can guard your heart.

We will more than likely argue about this several times when you get older.  But I hope that the expectation that we set from your early life will carry over to your teenage years, and it lessens the arguing.  I also hope that you see what we are doing here - it's not to be overprotective or controlling.  It's to teach you the importance of modesty as it relates to your whole life - yourself, your marriage, your friends, your image, and your representation of Christ.

So put a sweater on.  There are three in your closet already.

Green Eyed Toddler

Oh, Brooke Allen.  How my heart aches for you.  

This transition has been so hard on you.

First things first, you love your little brother...most days.  The days that you care to acknowledge that he exists.  You give him kisses on the forehead, ask for him, and say prayers for him at bedtime.  When he's crying, you bring him blankets and burp cloths and toys (a carrot from your play kitchen) to make him happy.  Sometimes you run over and help hold his bottle while I'm feeding him, and you like to relay to me what he's doing in his car seat.  You are convinced that he cries because he's not able to eat Pop Tarts.

But then, you will ever so slightly get too close to him when he's laying on the floor doing tummy time.  Or your little foot will slide closer and closer to his head while you are sitting next to him on the couch.  Or you pat him just a little too hard.

I have to watch you like a hawk.  Your jealousy has flared up big time.

I can't blame you.  Your whole life, you have been the object of everyone's affection.  Everyone has fawned over you and played with you and held you and danced with you and catered to you...and only you.

But now, there is another little person taking up that extra space in Mommy's lap, who GiGi and Daddy want to hold, and who is the reason that we can't hop up and get you exactly what you want when you want it.

After a particularly trying weekend at the beach two weeks after JP was born, you refused to have anything to do with me.  No hugs, no kisses, no answering my questions.  You went bananas any time GiGi or Daddy so much as looked at JP.  Out of frustration and sadness (and hormones), I began to cry to GiGi.  GiGi took you in the other room to talk to you.  She got you to start to open up about the way you were feeling, and I came in there with you.  GiGi left us alone, and we talked and cuddled for a long time.

I asked you, "Why are you so mad at Mommy?"  You answered, "Because I want Da-Da and JP is in the way."

AHA!  And this was MY fault.  Of course it was!  I was the one who brought JP into your little world and turned everything upside down.  I was the one who made Daddy and GiGi hold this little alien instead of you.  I was the one who was focused on bottles and burping and sleeping, instead of focusing 100% on you like I always had.

So I held you close and whispered in your ear about how I will always love you big.  You will always be my Special Girl - something that JP would never be because he is a boy!  And just because I have to take care of JP so much doesn't mean that I love you any less. 

And I finally got a smile and a hug from you for the first time in days.  I laid there and cried for quite some time.

Ever since then, you have been so much better around me.  We needed to help you understand all those emotions in your little two and a half year old heart.  You were feeling all these things and didn't know what to do with them.  We had to help you get them out.

You still get frustrated with GiGi and BanBen.  And when Daddy and I are holding JP, you make sure you can get on the couch too.  Where you are always welcome to be!  I have two arms for two reasons - You and Little Brother.

I have been focusing on spending extra special time with you each day.  I leave JP out in the hall at daycare and walk you into your classroom all by yourself.  At bedtime, I put JP in his boppy on the other side of your room and I sit next to your bed.  We sing songs, read a princess story (you are VERY into princesses - especially "Cindawewa" and "Tangult"), and say our prayers.  You love for me to sing A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes and the I Love Lucy theme song, so I make sure I sing those every time you ask me to - even in the middle of Cracker Barrel.  I ask you every morning if you are Cinderella or Rapunzel today, and you tell me who, and all about their stories.

And I tell you that you are more beautiful than all the princesses and much smarter.

My heart breaks for you when I see that green eyed monster creep up behind you.  Like this morning at daycare.  Just like every morning, I left JP outside the classroom door and walked you into your classroom.  Someone noticed him out there and started ooohing and aaahing, and drew so much attention to him that everyone went to see.  You immediately wanted me to hold you, and you dug your little head into my shoulder, and I could tell you were feeling left out and abandoned.  I took the opportunity to whisper to you how much I love you and how special you are to me.  

Because you are.  No matter who JP becomes, you will always always always be MY Sweet Girl.  MY Special Girl.  MY Smart Girl.  MY Pretty Girl.  MY Best Girl.  MY Favorite Girl. 

I hope it makes you happy to hear those things.  I could never forget about your sweet spirit, your loving heart, and your fun personality.  I love you for who YOU are.  No need to be jealous.  Mommy has plenty of room for both of you.

We are a work in progress.  We will get there.

You are always going to have a little hint of jealousy for your brother.  You will always wonder if Mom and Dad love him more than you.  You will always compare your accomplishments and your pitfalls.  There will even be times that you wish he wasn't around.  You may even want him to go away forever.

If that's the case, you come right over and sit in my lap and nuzzle your head in my shoulder.  I'll know what it means and I'll gladly whisper those affirmations in your ear again.

MY Sweet Girl.  MY Special Girl.  MY Smart Girl.  MY Pretty Girl.  MY Best Girl.  MY Favorite Girl.

I believe those things whole heartedly, and I always will.  I love you with the biggest, most expansive love that my heart will hold.  It's amazing just how big my heart can be.

Big enough for BOTH of you, without sacrificing space for one over the other.

Some people compare their children with one being their heart and the other their soul.  Or some will say one is their reason for living and the other is their reason for breathing.

You?  You are my light.  That little bright spot in my day with a sparkle in your eye that can defeat any darkness.  You really do make me happy when skies are grey.

So hold your chin up, Baby Girl.  Mommy's got you.