Moana and My Life Right Now

My daughter’s favorite movie right now is Moana. We have to listen to the soundtrack in the car and watch the movie at least once a day, if not twice. And Moana never fails to bring a tear to my eye, every time I watch. Not necessarily for the reasons you may think. Mostly because it’s so relate-able.

At the center of this movie, you have Moana, the girl who dreams of something more while everyone else tries to convince her to just be happy where she’s planted. And it’s not necessarily that they’re wrong, because you should absolutely find happiness right where you are. But, why try to convince a girl to give up on her dreams, her desires, her calling?

It’s no secret that I hate my job. But instead of having family members like the grandmas in all the Disney movies who encourage you to do what makes you happy, I have family who are more like Moana’s father and village, encouraging her to just be happy with what she does have.

“At least you have a job”

“Well, when I was working at -insert company here- they -insert ways the company was not a good employer- and I still stayed with them”

And it’s not that I don’t value hard work and the occasional sacrifice. But how much are we supposed to sacrifice? When your job makes you suicidal, why should you be expected to just be happy you have a job and deal with the unfair treatment and misery? Why should I just deal with feeling like this? I should not have to sacrifice all of myself just to pay the bills. I spend majority of my time at work. Why would I want to spend majority of my life being unhappy?

I have a lot of dreams in my head that I’d love to pursue, but capitalist America has me afraid to try. I have so much to lose, I can’t afford to be too risky. So, everytime I see Moana yearning for the open water, I get teary eyed. Because I know those pains, that feeling of longing. And when she goes for what she wants I get teary eyed because I want that so bad.

I’m trying to take a page out of Moana’s book, though. I am trying to test the waters, to find a way to reach out and go for what I want. Baby steps, but steps forward all the same. I will cross the horizon one day.

Word Vomit on a Bad Day

The truth is that I’m not okay. I’m overwhelmed and stressed and scared and suicidal, but I know I can’t possibly kill myself because I’ve got a little girl who needs me, and that just adds to me feeling trapped. I need help, but it seems like nobody can help me, and I can’t catch a break. I’ve been very actively suicidal since Monday, but because I can’t get any help I’m just spiraling in and out of really low depressive moments where I cry and really manic moments where I feel the need to do something but can’t and just moments where I’ve given up and can barely find the strength or the will to even move. But every day when friends ask me how I am and I don’t have anything else to tell them, I feel like they’re getting tired of hearing me be like this. So I’m putting up this fake face to keep everyone happy. But the truth is I’m tired, and I need help so bad. And when I’ve tried to get help, nobody is actually helping me, or they can’t help me because they don’t know how. And I don’t even know how to help myself.


I’m in an abusive relationship.

They are mentally, verbally, and emotionally abusive to me. They do not care about me or my feelings. They do not care if I am sick, or if my child is sick. I am less than human in their eyes. I am no better than a robot who should do nothing more than what I am told to do.

My partner makes me feel worthless, stupid, stressed out, overwhelmed. I sometimes find myself thinking about suicide. I am so miserable that I often just break down crying.

But, they pay my bills for me. And buy me groceries and pay the babysitter. They take care of me and provide my health insurance and offer me time off occasionally.

Do you think I should stay in this relationship?

Because I’m talking about my job.

My job, that makes me feel miserable and suicidal. My job, where I’m verbally and emotionally and mentally abused by the people who call in to the call center. They don’t care if I’m sick or if my daughter is sick, because doctor notes are not accepted. I make a paycheck, but I’m barely living from paycheck to paycheck. This job feels like it’s sucking my soul from me, leaving me an empty, cold, lifeless shell.

But hey, it’s got benefits. It’s money, even if the money is not enough.


You wouldn’t tell a woman dating an abusive man to stay in the relationship just because he pays her bills and buys her stuff sometimes. Why do people insist on telling me to stop complaining about how much I hate my job just because they offer benefits and it puts a little money in my bank account?


I haven’t posted much. Ever. And I guess I should’ve expected that. My lack of motivation, willpower, and time do that to a lot of aspects in my life. And it’s not necessarily that I’m in the “mood” to write. But I feel like I need to, because I’ve been overflowing.

A friend recently posted something on Facebook that says it’s a sign of anxiety if you look in the mirror and contemplate your existence, your reality. I must be overloaded with anxiety, because for weeks now all I can think about is death.

As a Christian, raised in the faith by Baptists, I believe in God and Heaven and Hell. As an individual who has formed their own beliefs and understandings, I fear the possibility of us being wrong. Now, I don’t really wanna talk about religion. I’ve never read the Bible all the way through and I don’t go to church like I know I should, so I’m in way over my head when I try to actually talk religion. So that’s not where this is coming from.

This comes from a fear of nothingness. There were many years before me, before event he concept of me. And I do not remember anything from any of that time. It all happened, and I was nothing. And then I was, and I don’t even remember that until maybe age 3 or 4? But now I have consciousness. I am alive and I feel and I think. But what of death? What happens? What happens if religion is wrong and there is no Heaven or Hell and there is only nothingness as there was before me. The concept of not being is one so vast that I cannot wrap my head around it, and it leaves my chest tight in fear. I simply cannot imagine not being. I literally cry when I think about this, which is every day and most definitely every night.

And it makes me wonder, if in the end we take nothing with us and we just simply… cease to be, what is any of it for? Why are we even dong anything if none of it matters anyway? Some of us will leave a lasting impression, as seen in history books and art and music and whatnot. But think of how many people have existed that left no mark on the world. So many forgotten people, as if they never existed in the first place. Why even try?

I don’t know what it is that put this thought train into my head, but I can’t derail it. So I’m stuck on this loop with my throat feeling constricted and my body feeling cold and my temples hot and pounding.

I want to believe there is something after this. But then, how do we fathom forever? A continuous loop of existence in Heaven or Hell? Reincarnation with no remembrance of our past lives, just experiencing this world with new bodies and the same existential crises? It seems like most religions have a similar concept of the afterlife, in the sense that they believe in something after death, just as they seem to believe in something(s) or someone(s) bigger than themselves.

The uncertainties of life haunt me. I guess we’ll never know until it’s too late.


I want to preface this by saying that you can have whatever beliefs you want. As a human, you are entitled to that. And yes, we have freedom of speech, to an extent. But the moment you stop respecting EVERYONE’s right to free speech, we’ve got some serious problems.

This election is going to tear our country apart. I seriously don’t know if America can weather this. So much hatred from so many sides, so many people just absolutely losing their minds. I have watched statuses and pictures from all different sides of the argument while scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed. And I’ve mostly kept my mouth shut, because I don’t enjoy confrontation as much as my attitude may sometimes suggest. But I finally had enough when someone who is a friend of my family kept posting pro-Trump statuses and pictures and posting insulting things about people who support the other candidates. And it was easy enough to scroll past it all at first, no matter how sick it made me to my stomach. But when I would get curious and look at the comments, a few of his friends who disagreed with him would try to comment their opinions, and he would completely shut them down in a condescending manner. This from a man who is proud that he is not educated. A man who has never worked to better himself and has just relegated himself to the task of hard work and thinks that this makes him better and smarter than most people. But, I digress, as I am prone to do. Not only would he start being an absolute ass, his like-minded friends would jump in as well, and I’m sure he found this hilarious and rewarding. He tried to pretend that he was innocent, but had been called out at least once that I saw by someone who reminded him that he had called them screaming and threatening them over the phone because of this stuff.

I do not like America. I do not like what this place is or what it is becoming. I would gladly leave, if possible, though there are multiple reasons I cannot (no matter how many times people try to argue this point. It is NOT that easy to just pick and leave and survive when you have a child). And so I did indeed post a status on my Facebook that says that I hate America. And that is when the shit hit the fan. because he felt it was okay to comment and insult liberals. Well, I have many a liberal friend, and they did not take kindly to this. And so they proceeded to give him a taste of his own medicine. Until the point that he got extremely hurt and blocked me. And then messaged at least 2 of my loved ones telling them how he hurt their feelings and it wasn’t okay for them to insult him. Even though he had insulted them. It is apparently not okay for anyone to treat him the way he treats others.

And typically I would just move on from this, but I am really actually upset by this. Because this was someone that I thought was a good person, and then painted me and my loved ones as bad people. I wouldn’t be so upset if he hadn’t tried to play the victim and LIE. He messaged my fiancé telling my fiancé not to insult him. And the he tried to tell me that my fiancé had messaged him first. And this childish behavior did not help when I told him that I would file harassment charges if he didn’t leave me and my loved ones alone, because he tried to turn it around on me and threatened to call the cops on me. And of course he played the innocent victim card to his mother, who of course believes that I am just as much to blame for the blow up.

I am extremely conflicted in my emotions right now. I am angry. I am sad. But most of all, I feel a deep sense of foreboding. This is our future, America, if we don’t do something and do it fast. A man threatened to go to my fiancé’s workplace and try to cause a scene and try to fight him. And I have to bite my tongue because now he’s threatening to call the cops on me. And so I have to be the bigger person. And I hate being the bigger person, because I hate leaving shitty people feeling satisfied with themselves and thinking that they won something. But unlike him, I actually have custody of my child and have to look after her and care for her, and I cannot and will not put that at risk.


A Year of Motherhood

Where has my tiny little newborn gone? Where is my snuggly baby who just needs Momma? Over the course of a year, just one year, I now have a curious little girl who walks in circles around the living room yelling adorable baby gibberish at me. And I am both amazed and proud of her as well as a little heartbroken that the time went so fast.

When you’re a new mother, they warn you. Snuggle them, cuddle them, enjoy the early moments when these helpless little infants need you so much. Because they will grow. Carrying them around for extended periods of time will get more tiresome. And one day instead of just snuggling in your arms, they’re going to want to be crawling or walking around, exploring under your watchful gaze.

But you don’t listen to them. You gaze admiringly at this little bundle of new baby smell and imagine all the possibilities in store for them. When they’re sick, and all they can do is cry, all you can do is wish they could talk to tell you what is wrong. But when that first step is taken, it’s bittersweet. The first step towards independence.

My work life keeps me from my daughter more than I am comfortable with. But I have to pay the bills, so to the trusted babysitter she goes. I can not begin to tell you how bad it feels to feel like the babysitter is raising your child. I have to text her on the weekends for an update on what my child is now eating or drinking. It hurts deep in my soul. This is never what I imagined motherhood would be for me.

But while watching your children grow really is bittersweet, the sweetness really makes up for the bitter (and I can say that because she’s only just turned 1. Give me a few years to experience having a teenager and I might change my tune lol). As she’s growing, more opportunities open up for us. I’m already trying to plan concerts and fun mother daughter dates and family bonding adventures.

I always knew my mother worked to provide for us. But it didn’t make it hurt any less to not get to see her much or spend time with her. Mom working meant if I wanted to participate in any after school activities or clubs, I wouldn’t have had a ride home. So I missed out on a lot. And I know my mom did the best she could for me, I never doubted her love for or commitment to her children. But that’s still not the life I want for my child.

I realize that sacrifices are going to be made. But when people tell me I just don’t want to lose weight bad enough, or I just don’t want the extra money on my paycheck for working 12 hours a day instead of 10 hours a day bad enough…. It’s not worth it. I want it, but to lose the small amount of time I get with my daughter during the week? I can’t give that up. It’s easier to keep hating my body than to miss out on Daniel Tiger on Netflix before bed.

Does this mean that I don’t take time for me? Not at all. At this point in our lives, I don’t get it often. But when I do, I absolutely take it. But there are some things you just can’t give up on.

50 More Shades of Shut Up Already!

Upon opening the second book of the 50 Shades trilogy, I asked myself, “Why am I putting myself through this shit again?” But I knew why. I was desperate to find that abuse everyone talked about. When you argue about the poor quality of the first book with fans of the trilogy, they immediately declare that you just won’t understand until you read the second and third books, because apparently that is where the “real” chemistry start. And thus, needing to be able to properly debate this whole thing, I set out to wade through the shallow waters of 50 Shades Darker.

We left off in the first book, Anastsia had just fled from Christian’s scary “50 shades of fucked up”. She had decided to let him really lay into her, and after her mild ass beating, she immediately closed up, rejected his after care, and decided that he was a monster and she could not possibly give him everything he needed. Commence scene where she goes home, throws herself on her bed dramatically, and cries. Poor Christian, finally gets the woman he apparently cares for to consent to a little rough handling, and she deserts just like his crack whore mother when she killed herself in front of 4 year old Christian and he was left with her dead body for 4 days.

But, let us jump right into the second book. Ana has begun her job at a publishing house in Seattle. Things seem to be going great, and she’s oblivious to her sleazeball boss’s firtations. Go figure. She receives flowers from everyone’s favorite billionaire 3 days after she stormed out on him, with a card congratulating her on her first day of work. 3 days laterm she gets an email from Mr. Grey, remembering that her friend’s art gallery opening is the next day and she had previously invited him to attend it with her. And of course, since she has no car at this point in time, he ofers to pick her up and take her still. And she, of course, agrees.

When Ana and Christian are reunited, we discover that she has not eaten since last Friday, the night she left him. And this has been a recurring theme with Ana. It seems anytime food is places in front of her, she becomes so sexually distracted that she loses her appetite. Or else, the distraction is her fear of Christian’s past and his deviant sexual appetites. This girl practically never eats. But thankfully, her habits seem to get better throughout the second book. I’ve never met someone who has forgotten to eat or completely lose their appetite as easily as Miss Steele. But, despite all that has transpired between them in the past week, the two slip easily back into their roles; Christian asserting his dominance and Ana acting like a rebellious teenager. They go to the art gallery, they go out to eat. End chapter one. So much excitement.

Chatper two we have negotiations that set the scene for the rest of the book, basically. Christian doesn’t want to lose her again, so he agrees to a vanilla relationship. We learn that Miss Steele doesn’t like pain, but she does like it a little bit. She doesn’t want to be punished (though she would benefit from it greatly), but she does want to be spanked a little. So, the Domly Dom who has never had a normal relationship is now in a normal relationship with a girl who is technically in her early 20s, but has the mentality of a preteen and doesn’t know better than to not send personal emails to you boyfriend through your work email. And even after she is warned that her work emails are monitored, she continues to send things that she definitely shouldn’t. Rebel without a cause, or ignorant teenager? Not that she’s entirely at fault. Christian could’ve stopped emailing her back. Dumb lovestruck socially inept billionaire.

The carrying on between Christian and Ana remains similar to what it was in the first book, but E.L James seems to be trying to turn the tables. Where in the first book Christian was portrayed as this strong character and Ana was unsure and insecure, the second book finds their roles switched. Ana seems to be thriving under this new relationship with Christian. No longer afraid of punishment, she’s become mouthy and more bratty than ever. And Christian, completely out of his element, is suddenly opening up and making himself vulnerable for this woman that he loves. Character develpoment? Or fantasy dreams of the lonely and sexually unfulfilled? Personally I think it’s the latter, but the author will probably argue with me, and arguing with children is tedious and hardly ever gets you anywhere, so I’m going to save myself the headache.

Obviously, now that we know that Christian is not going to dominate little Ana, the threat of abuse is gone from the storyline. So, what are we given to keep us reading once we realize this? We’re given Christian’s past. From the pedophilic Mrs. Robinson to a mentally unwell ex-sub, the drama never stops. The first book was about the contract. Will she or won’t she agree to become his submissive? The second book was definitely all about Christian’s past and battling his demons and putting them to rest. And it’s all rather hilarious, which is really the only redeeming quality of these book is the humor I find in how outrageous this all is.

And what is the icing on the cake of the Chrsitian Grey drama? All those times he told Ana that she wouldn’t want to be with him if she knew why he did the things he did, what was that all about? Well, my friends, I’ll tell you. Mr. Grey chooses his submissives, the women he brings into his house to beat and tie up and fuck… based on how much they look like his mother. Yes, folks, all his pretty brunette submissives remind him of mommy. Which kind of explains why all the women who work for him are blondes. BAM! Secret revealed, we can all go home. Drive safely!

But with all of this past drama squared away and imminent wedding bells, why do we need a third book? Is it just so the author can write out her dream wedding to the kinky billionare man of her dreams? Oh no, E.L. James has one more trick up her sleeve for us. Because after the sleazeball boss I mentioned earlier tries to blackmail Ana with those emails I also previously mentioned, Christian (who, by the way, bought the fucking publishing company Ana works for) has the sleazeball boss fired after Ana kicks him the balls and then Christian’s body guard has a go at him. And at the end of the book, we discover that the reason Christian’s helicopter malfunctioned (yeah, that’s right, I’m not giving you all the details. You want them, you have to suffer through the whole book like I did… Or maybe just ask me… I’ll probably tell you anyway) is because the sleazeball ex boss wants his revenge.

So, will I pick up the third book?… Probably. I’ve made it this far, I feel like I need to finish this out so that when I debate with fans I can be like “I READ THE DAMN BOOKS, I KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT WHEN I SAY THIS IS ALL RUBBISH!” But, in terms of fucked up shit and good soap opera drama, the second book really brought it harder than the first book with all that transpires with Christian’s exes. Does Anastasia’s attitude and unrealistic insatiable sexual prowess for a recently deflowered virgin still piss me off because it makes ZERO sense for her to be able to have rough sex all of the days multiple times a day and never seem to become sore? Yes. I’m still searching for decent fictional books with bdsm storylines, but maybe I should stop looking in the erotica for young adults section, because I really feel like that is where this trilogy belongs.

50 Shades of Fuckery

For some time, there was a war on my Facebook newsfeed. There were soldiers on both sides in my friends list, and thus I was confronted with both sides of the argument. I read all the comments, looked at the articles provided as evidence for each side, and in the end, I still didn’t feel like I could properly choose a side. So I’ve embarked on a strange, often boring, usually repetitive journey to enlighten myself so that I might be able to make a rational and constructive opinion about this war, so that maybe I can choose a side. And what have I found so far? I don’t really agree with either side. I do agree with bullet points from each side, but not the entire argument. And what battle am I referring to? Why, none other than the legendary battle of 50 Shades of Grey, the ones who love it versus the ones crying “abuse!”.

Before I read the first book, I read the articles online that vehemently protested the book, claiming it was no dreamy fantasy, but instead a disgusting portrayal of abuse and violence that painted the BDSM lifestyle in ugly and untrue colors. I read the statuses of friends who know a thing or two about the BDSM lifestyle saying the same things the articles were saying, and begging their friends not to go see it or read the books, but instead to find better literature about BDSM. I learned from my few explorations into these lists of “better literature” that I’m not entirely sure there has ever been an “accurate portrayal” of BDSM in the media… At least, not in the general sense of it and not a portrayal that seems to go to the extreme side of the Master/slave end of the spectrum. This includes (so far) the first book of The Beauty Trilogy by Anne Rice and the movie The Secretary. I may yet do a short review on those, but that is still to be decided.

Now then, 50 Shades of Grey. I read the book with a keen eye set out for any funny activities that I could yell, “A-ha! Christian Grey, you abusive scum!”, at. Weirdly enough, that never happened. And I had to wonder, who was claiming these books portrayed abuse? Was it the masses of hyper-sensitive people our generation has seemed to breed? Did my friends even read the book, or just listen to the articles with their carefully selected sentences and short excerpts from the book? It’s actually taken me a minute to get this review finally typed up because I was nervous to put my actual thoughts on this book out there. It seemed I was a lone grey area (ha!) in a sea of black and white.

I’m sure everyone has heard by now that 50 Shades started out as Twilight fanfiction online. For anyone who has read Twilight (I admit, I read about 2 1/2 of those books. That’s another conversation for another day), it’s easy to see the influence Stephanie Meyer had on E.L. James and the reason they same women who loved Twilight have become smitten with Mr. Grey. The writing in the books is childish, in my opinion. It’s basic, though she does try to throw in some big words here and there. The leading female character is immature in generally all aspects, no matter how hard the writer tried to make her seem strong. I suppose the reason for this is to make her more “relatable”, but I can’t relate to a woman who mentally refers to her self conscious as a seperate entity from herself and has an “inner goddess” who is seperate from both herself and her subconcsious. I also cannot relate to a woman who refers to her vagina as “… there“. Pussy, cunt, vagina, sex, gaping fuck hole. I don’t care what you want to call it, just please, anything but “… there“!

I admit, from the first chapter where I was convinced that the reason Anastasia Steele was a virgin was because she was secretly a lesbian in love with her best friend/roommate, I was mentally chastising myself for allowing myself to feel obligated to read this rubbish just to have an opinion. It’s rough, obviously, living in a world where we need to feel relevant. Most of the time I don’t care. But for some god awful reason, I just had to have a relevent opinion on this… Damn it.

So, klutzy girl next door Miss Steele has to interview mysterious sexy billionaire Mr. Grey because her best friend/roommate is sick. And basically the next day he shows up at the hardware store she works at wanting to buy rope and cable ties, after not being told where she works. “Oh, Christian, fancy meeting you here in Portland at this little locally owned hardware store that I just so happen to work at. What ever made you come here from Seattle basically the day after we met?” Gag me, please, and in exactly the way Ana later decides she doesn’t want to be gagged. Ya know, cuz I’m actually into that shit. But, this turns out to be a regular occurence. And this is the start of where some people start calling out abuse the way you might yell “fire!”. Because, yeah, it’s a little stalkerish. Especially when he starts doing stuff like that a lot. Like, tracking her cell phone. And it’s true that if this were being said about some middle-lower class guy living in a trailer, we’d be freaking out. But, since this is the uber sex god and inconceivably rich CEO and self made hunk Christian Grey, it sets mouths and other things to watering.

But, is it abuse? It’s a little odd, yes. However, it just doesn’t scream abusive to me. I realize that some people who are involved in the kink scene are afraid of people being inspired by these books and not taking proper precautions before attempting their own kinky fuckery, getting hurt, and then shining bad light on the lifestyle.

Ideally I wanted to make this review a little more in depth, with nice littler excerpts from the book and page numbers so you folks could follow along. But I ended up sending the book back to the library before I found time and motivation to get into this. What I can say is that I read through the entire first book, and not once did I see him do anything abusive to her. “But, didn’t you see where she said no and he didn’t lsiten to her?!” Ummm, not really. I saw her say no, and him not do anything to her until he finally got the yes that she didn’t at first say because she was just innocently nervous, not because she didn’t actually want to do the things he wanted to do.

I’ve heard more negative uproar from the feminist extremist community (not the feminist community in general. Don’t start giving me lip, mother fuckers.) and kinksters who themselves are maybe a little more sensitive to rape and abuse than others. And I can see the whole thing from their point of view. I just don’t agree with it. The few portrayals of BDSM in the media I’ve seen seem to focus on a Master/slave dynamic and fall into more extreme places on the spectrum. And this is not an unknown occurrence. But you know what? Floggers and restraints and nipple clamps have been sold in sex stores forever. Putting a 50 Shades of Grey tag on them suddenly has everyone scooping them up, yes, but that’s okay. This is the tamest BDSM portrayal I’ve ever seen, some of the softest of the soft core erotica I’ve ever been subjected to, and if it shines a little more public attention on kinky fuckery, then more power to it, no matter how poorly written it may be. Because the ones who are serious about it will find their way.

My Daughter

My daughter,

You are so tiny, Little One. I wasn’t expecting to hold you for another month, but you had other plans. You didn’t make me wait very long, and after about 24 anxious hours of light contractions and 1 hour of hard labor, I was holding the one person I love more than anything or anyone else on the face of this planet. 5lbs 5oz and 18 inches long. They only let me hold you for about 5 minutes before they had to take you because you were having breathing problems. I spent 4 hours pining for you, waiting to have you back in my arms where you belonged. Those poor hospital workers. I basically refused to put a shirt on the whole time I was there, because I couldn’t get enough skin to skin time with you.

We had breastfeeding issues, and I worried myself into crying fits. I felt like a failure, like an unfit mother. You seemed so hungry, and I only wanted you to be full and content. And once we finally got the hang of it, you and I, words cannot even express the lightness in my heart to hold you close and look into your eyes while you nursed. The closeness, the bond, that I feel with you gives me strength. You give me strength, Little Miss. You make me want to be better for you and for us. I love you so much, my little strong one. And you are so strong, rolling onto your side, trying to hold your head up already. When you were born, your cries were so weak from your lungs not really being fully developed. And now, only 2 weeks old, and you sound so strong when you cry. I can’t even be aggravated by your cries, because I’m so relieved you’re getting stronger.

I hope with all my heart that you retain this strength you’ve shown from the start. If you’re anything like me, you’re going to be willful and headstrong and independent. And I would die before I’d try to squash any of that in you. I don’t want to cage you as you grow, but I want to watch you flourish and thrive and really live. I will discipline you when you need it, because the world will not be kind and you must learn to listen. But, I will also always listen to you, and I will be both your mother and your friend. I want you to be able to talk to me, and I want to teach you to have a good, responsible head on your shoulders. My love of books, and art, and music are all things I wish to give to you. As you grow, I will find joy in the passion in your eyes and pride in all your accomplishments as well as your attempts, even if they don’t end in success, because I don’t want you to ever be afraid to try.

I really can’t tell you enough how much I love you, my beautiful, strong, amazing Little Miss. And I can’t wait to see the beautiful, strong, smart, amazing woman you grow into (But don’t grow too fast… i want to enjoy your childhood just as much as I want to make it enjoyable for you).