All I knew was pink. I grew up with one sister. We were the best friend of friends. We still are. We had the big pink Barbie dream house and matching pink Corvette. She had a pink room and mine was purple.
We were girly girls.
We played dress-up, putting on our mother’s makeup and high heels. We did fashion shows. We played with Barbies, Rainbow Brite, She-Ra and Cabbage Patch dolls. We pretended to be moms as we toted around our baby dolls.
All I knew was pink.
I had you, my baby girl. My firstborn. You were petite and pretty in pink that summer day you came home. You wore pink bows and encompassed everything girl. You celebrated your first birthday in full pink and gold fashion. You grew up to love the color pink. Your clothes, your room, your toys . . . they all represent some form of pink. You are my girly girl and forever little princess.
I understand girl. And for me, pink was girl. I speak girl. Heck, I am a girl!
All I knew was pink—and then came you.
You were blue. My baby boy. Now what was I to do? You were everything opposite of me and everything I’d ever known.
You were curious, adventurous and busy. You challenged me. You wanted to explore. You were full of new “firsts” for me. You melted my heart with your blue. You with your sweet boyish smile and dimples. Your cuddles on the couch and silly dances on the carpet. Your shrieks of excitement and fast-talking. You are my baby blue, my handsome little prince of mischief and wonder.
All I knew was pink, then there was blue, and now all I know is both of you.
And I couldn’t love you any more than I already do.
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