I want a little girl. I want to watch her grow and fall in love with adventure like I did.
I want to be there for her like my parents were with me, but obviously funnier.
I want to have tickle fights and make sarcastic comments when she claims to hate me because I wouldn’t let her stay up five more minutes, after already letting her have ten more.
I will love to see her run around with her sun lightened hair and tan freckled skin.
I want to raise a daughter who knows the actual order that the Star Wars movies came out in.
I want my daughter to know how much she is loved, and that God is always with her.
I want her to know that she is special and valued and worthy to be loved.
She will know she is smart and funny and if she’s lucky, more coordinated than I am.
I want a little girl that knows what I didn’t know, because I had to learn it the hard way.
I want a daughter who feels safe, even though sometimes I didn’t.
I want a daughter who can be protected even when I’m not there.
And for that reason, I also want a son.