My girl. She is her own person, that is for damn sure.
There are lots and lots of ways that this makes my life more difficult, but just as many ways that it makes it more awesome.
How can I sum up my Fiona? In a word- exhausting. She is the most loving little cuddlebug, but can drive me up a wall faster than I don’t know what. She’s recently begun refusing to let me brush her hair, because “I love my curly hairs, Mama. Let it be just curly.” We compromise and I pull it back into a ponytail or braid on school days, but when we’re at home I just throw up my hands and leave well enough alone.
She has a very… let’s go with strong… sense of fashion. She knows what she wants to wear, and by god if that includes her sister’s halter top worn around her neck like some sort of cowl scarf, then so be it. I can only hope that as she grows up she keeps that confidence and individuality. And is it just me, or is she TOTALLY pulling this look off?
And she’s imaginative. See that red string running across the yard? It’s her “invention” and I haven’t quite figured out what its purpose is yet, though I have seen several things hooked onto it with hooks and used as a sort of zipline for watering cans and stuffed animals… it’s tied to a chair on the deck and the other end to a pipe that comes up out of the ground near the driveway. She’s very excited about it.
Oh, my girl. She’s too much like me, is what it is.