Dear Daughter

Dear Sawyer,

This one is just to you, my love. So many things are changing in our country these days. We have elected a leader, our new President, and to say I am disheartened is putting it mildly. We are going from a president who publicly tells his wife that she is his best friend, that she has made him and our country proud, that she is strong and an incredible role model for todays young girls, to a man who has shown blatant disrespect for every race, gender, and orientation that he is not. Some people see a man who “tells it like it is”, but if what he says is what it is, then by GOD we need some change. His election has brought out the typically hidden ugly sides to a lot of people I know and love. It’s very hard to see posts on Facebook and Twitter by people I respected, that are so blatantly (and sometimes arrogantly) racist, sexist, homophobic, etc…but the hardest part of all? Knowing that they truly believe it. It makes me scared to raise you in this world. I fear for your safety, of course, I’m you’re Momma. But right now, I think I fear more for your self confidence, worth, and sense of purpose. There are a few things I hope to instill in you as you grow, but nothing more than this; You are worthy. Of everything. Of kindness, generosity, trust, and faith. You deserve to have friends, lovers, employers, who know your value and strive to make themselves worthy of you. You deserve to know that you are appreciated and respected and to have people make an effort on your behalf.

Currently, you are playing with your brother’s toys, while rolling around the living room floor with him and your Daddy. We got you a stroller for Christmas and Santa brought you a baby doll. Daddy put the stroller together for you, and I placed your sweet, soft, pink baby in its basket. Without hesitation, you ripped that baby from its confines, slammed her to the ground and replaced her with a handful of plastic dinosaurs and Power Ranger action figures. You’d rather play with Sullivan’s work bench and tools than most other toys you own. Does this mean anything? No. Children play with what is easily accessible and you will have a variety of opportunities as you grow. However, it does make me think. When I first found out you were a girl, I worried that I wouldn’t know what to teach you. I don’t know how to do fun hair braids and things. I don’t know much about makeup or fashion. I like what I like and that’s about it. I was concerned that my lack of sparkles and frills would make me an unfit mother for you if you turned out to be a quote, unquote, PRINCESS. But here it is, Sawyer. Be a princess if you want to be a princess. Cover yourself head to toe in sequins and sparkles if that is what you want. Read fairytales every night before bed and dream of a prince on a white horse. Mommy will be right there to wipe your tears when your first boyfriend breaks your heart and you realize that fairytale princes are just stories. It is this heartache that may make you a poet, an artist, a musician. Or, dig in the dirt and play with dinosaurs, dreaming of finding the next big fossil. I’ll be right there, pretreating your khakis after you get mud and grass stains on your big dig. Just remember, kid, that these two things are not mutually exclusive. Pull your hair back of your mud streaked face and adjust your tiara, you have work to do. You have the work of creating, dreaming, playing, and discovering, and it doesn’t matter how you’re dressed when you do it. Mommy will not care if you are the prissiest of girls or the roughest of tom boys, so long as you understand that you deserve equal opportunities and accolades and that you have every right to explore any passion or interest you may have. Never let ANYONE tell you that you can’t, or you shouldn’t, because you’re a girl. You can and you WILL, because you’re a girl. You are only one year old and I already know that you have the personality of a warrior. You will not take crap from anyone and I am proud to say that I am your mother.

I love you more than words and know you will do great things.

Love, Momma