Girly Girl

There's a little, chubby boy playing on the floor with three dump trucks, two excavators ('cause that's what those things with the curled scoopy thing are really called), a bulldozer, and a handful of goldfish crackers, crumbs all about, and what do you hear?  "Well, isn't he ALL BOY?!"  Yes, he sure is.

Then there's the little, chubby girl pushing the plastic baby carriage full of beanie babies, fuzzy stuffed animals, and dolls with mashed and missing hair while teetering in Mama's heels and what do you hear?  (Yes, I'm not being tricksy.) "Well, isn't she a girly girl?!"  Mmm, yes she surely is.

That's what we got the first time around.  A girly girl.

Anyone who knows our oldest daughter, Phylicia, will now, once and for all, be able to fill in the blanks as to why she is the way she is.  A picture is worth a thousand words:

Cosmetology School 101

This is why she needed bunion surgery at 15.

Mouth open, fun being had, much to say and do!

Phylicia has her own big girl life now, at twenty-one, still primping and fussing, if she isn't jogging or hunting with a brother.  God knits them the way He wants them.  We wouldn't have it, or her, any other way.
We love you, Phylicia.