Mia's hair sticks up. Well, not entirely. The sides and back lie flat, it is just the top that defies gravity, and it doesn't stick straight up but instead up diagonally giving her a rakish little mohawk. When I was a baby, my hair stuck up all over my head and my mother has said that she was obsessed with slicking it down with baby oil. I think she is secretly appalled that I don't slick down Mia's hair. A number of people have suggested, kindly and otherwise, that I should do something about it. I won't. Mia is going to be a mohawk baby.
You see, I consider it one of my greatest responsibilities as a parent, especially as the mother of a daughter, to teach Mia to be happy with herself. To teach her to value her uniqueness rather than valuing conformity. To teach her that while it is nice to be beautiful it is far more important to be smart and kind and strong. To help her always believe that she is beautiful just as she is and that her hair does not matter. Reveling in her mohawk is the first lesson.
Also, I love her crazy, sticky-outy hair. I love the little birthmark on her forehead and that one thigh is slightly chubbier than the other and that she still has the furriest earlobes you have ever seen. I love it as much as her ideally formed nose and darling buddha belly and perfect little toes. I admire her quirks, and will work hard to teach her to do the same. She's fabulous just as she is.