You Is Kind. You Is Smart. You Is Important.

Last night, my heart broke into a million tiny pieces.  I was going to return some books to the library and asked Bailey if she wanted to come with me.  She, of course, wanted to go and she wanted to go right now, never mind the fact that we were in the middle of dinner.  So I told her, "Sure you can come!  We'll go after dinner, but you've got to put your jammies on first."  It was already getting late and I knew we'd spend a good hour or so at the library, so I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone and just have her put pajamas on before we left.  No big deal, right?  But Bailey got all upset.  "But, mommy...I can't wear my jammies to the library!"    I assured her that she could but she kept insisting that she couldn't.  Finally, she lowered her head and, in a teeny tiny voice, said "Everyone's gonna laugh at me if I wear my jammies to the library."

Heart...shattered.

This is my little girl, the one who wears mismatched summer clothes in the middle of winter.  The little girl who doesn't care if her hair is perfectly combed before we go outside.  The little girl who couldn't care less that she has a slight unibrow because (1) she doesn't know any better and (2) her mimom told her it was beautiful.  The little girl who I've watched run up to a group of kids, introduce herself, and ask them if they want to play with her. The little girl who runs around the playground without a care in the world, and who is super excited to play tee ball even though she's never played ball a day in her life and has no idea what it entails.

And now she's worried that people will laugh at her if she wears pajamas to the library.

She's not even four years old yet...why is that even a thought in her little world?  Why is she worried about anything but what's for dinner, how soon she can go outside to play, and whether or not she should have strawberry water ice or rainbow for dessert?  It broke my heart.  She's too young for those kinds of worries and insecurities.

I promised her that no one would laugh at her if she wore her jammies to the library.  She was still hesitant, so I told her that I would wear my jammies to the library, too.  And she got this big smile on her face and was so happy.  So I did.  She wore her Dora pajamas with winter boots and I proudly sported my flannel pajama bottoms and a sweat shirt with sneakers.  Did we look a little bit ridiculous?  Yes, but Bailey didn't think so once she saw me in my pajamas.  And no one laughed at us.  In fact, a bunch of older boys in the Children's Department asked her to play with them and didn't comment on the fact that she was wearing pajamas once.

I sat down in a chair at least two sizes too small for my ass and I watched her play with these boys that she hadn't even known existed 10 minutes before.  They built a castle with blocks and lined up servicemen on the table and pushed toy fire trucks around saving townspeople and played catch with a big ball.  She introduced the boys to me and they shared some grapes with her, and I sat on that too small chair and watched her play with a big smile on her face for more than an hour. 

There's my girl.  The one who doesn't care about anything but having fun and making new friends.  The one who isn't worried about what other kids will think of her or whether they will laugh at her for something as silly as the clothes she's wearing.

And those boys?  Oh, I was so grateful for those boys.  Not a single one of them even noticed that she was wearing pajamas, let alone commented on it.  She was a play mate, a ball catcher, an awesome ambulance sound maker, and someone to share their snack with.  Nothing more and nothing less.

By the time we got home, Bailey had completely forgotten about her worries from earlier.  I, on the other hand, thought about it pretty much all night.  It was the very first time that she's ever shown anything but complete confidence in the face of social "norms".  I expected {and have been dreading} battling self-esteem issues starting in her early teens, and I've tried my hardest to instill a solid sense of confidence and pride in herself, society be damned.  But I never expected her to start worrying what others would think of her as early as three years old.  And I feel like I'm not entirely sure how to handle things this early on.  So I'll continue what I've been doing to make sure she realizes {and always knows} that she's more than just her looks and her clothes.  Which is to tell her every day how wonderful and smart and sweet she is, and how much I love her.  And also, to take this quote from The Help and repeat it to her over and over again, albeit using better grammar:

"You is kind.  You is smart.  You is important."

Because she absolutely is.