I'm big on planning. I'm always planning - my day, stuff to do on the weekend, my next holiday, my life. The fact that nothing, NOTHING, in my 28 years of life has gone according to 'plan' doesn't bother me. I'm a plan-o-maton. It's what I do.
So when I found out that I was pregnant (totally not according to plan!), after the initial hysterics, I went right back to planning.
I planned to have the perfect little girl. She was going to be beautiful, gentle, sweet, and quiet. I would wander through baby sections in stores and plan her wardrobe - full of lovely frocks and pretty matching bonnets.
Little did I know that at that very moment, The Big Guy was rummaging around in the back of His cupboard looking for that rare blueprint of the Ungirliest-Girl-in-the-History-of-the-World.
And so she arrived (by C-section, thumbing her little nose at my plans for a normal delivery), my perfect little girl. She, of the gentle ways and quiet nature.
Double Ha! Is that a chuckle I hear from up there, Big Guy?
This then, is my girl:
My girl, who is happiest running around in her baniyan-chaddi, who mopes and sulks when I put her in a dress.
My girl, whose favourite game is football, accompanied by yells of the most bloodcurdling variety.
My girl, who dives into a room full of toys, dolls, and stuffed animals, and finds the one thing that she will play with for the rest of the evening - a little white racing car.
My girl, whose favourite pastime is to (try to) lift things that are bigger than her, heavier than her, or both.
My girl, who will go the distance to join in a fight.
This then, is my girl.
And I'll let you in on a little secret - she's perfect!