I Now Know Why God Didn't Give Me Girls

I'm fascinated by all things girly.

Like hairbows. Hairbows just make me happy. Little girls bopping around with ribbons bigger than Texas is just good stuff.

And polkadotty dresses. In all my favorite colors.

And tights. Polkadotty tights. With Mary Janes.

And little cardigan sweaters with crocheted flowers. That match the polkadotty tights. And the Textanic hairbow.

But God didn't bless me with little girls. I've had this discussion many a time with my Big Daddy, and I've explained to him that I would be an excellent girly mama. I have explained to the Lord that I would have made him proud with all the girliness. I even have promised hairbows and pinafore dresses, because I'm absolutely certain that God loves these amazing displays of prissiness.

But. No girls.

Only rough and rowdy boys. Who wear ball shorts and teeshirts with the sleeves cut-out. And smelly tennis shoes. And who just plop a baseball cap on their head when they are having a bad hair day. Oh...you can make a boy look cute. It is possible. But then they pick their nose and wipe their boogers down the front of their super cute polo shirt (which is about as cute as boy clothes get outside of dressing them in linen jumpsuits and knee socks...which isn't happening anytime soon around our house), or they decide that finding the first mud puddle they see and jumping in it is EXACTLY what you meant when you said, "Don't get your church clothes dirty."

But I'm not harboring any hard feelings. Honest.

And after what happened last night, I'm pretty sure I understand why God didn't give me a little prissy girl to dress and display all things polkadotty on.

Because last night I played beauty shop. With my niece, my sister, and my mama. I spent hours with the flat iron and bobby pins and ponytail holders.

And this was the best I could do.

Yes. I made all of those beautiful creations. Except the ones on my head (those are thanks to Kayla and Michele) and my mama's mohawk. Which is my favorite look of the night. Not to mention the fact that my prissified mama actually allowed her luscious locks to be turned into such a monstrosity and then photographed is actually a miracle in itself.

Aren't they lovely.

And what is worse, is that I was actually really trying.

See.

This is why God didn't give me girls.

Because He looked into the big picture and saw that my daughter, though she would have been super dandy in polkadots and leggin's....

She would have had to endure hair that looked like it stepped off of the soundstage of the creepiest science fiction movie EVUH made.

But, by golly, she would have had a hairbow stuck all up in the middle of it.