I’m about to have two little ladies running around my house instead of just one. (I’m expecting a girl.)

And raising a girl is nothing short of a blessing.

But sugar and spice and everything nice? Nah.

I’ll take a sprinkle of naughty and a hint of “likes to roughhouse.”

I’ll throw in a pinch of burn-your-mouth spicy and maybe an occasionally sour too.

Because I’ve been thinking a lot about raising girls and about being one too.

I’ve been thinking about my own experiences, hardships and hard-won lessons, and what exactly being a woman means to me.

So, here we go: a compilation of my memories, self-experiments, personal gender studies, stories and teachings.

How to raise a girl:

Let her pick out pink, frilly dresses—and wear them outside to play.

Throw the baseball with her in the backyard so that she can break in her new baseball mitt.

Be comfortable with her nudity and with your own, so that she can grow to be comfortable in her skin.

Let her take off her teenage bra and not wear it for a year. Don’t freak out if she stops shaving her armpits. Let her disown her girlhood because she’s rebelling against—and mourning—leaving it behind.

Let her cover her breasts and wear baggy clothes—but make sure that she’s not covering more than her body from the world.

Let her eat, but teach her that self-indulgence is not self-care either.

Hold her when she’s fallen down and then help her learn how to get back up, for when you’re not there to grasp her hand.

Make sure she knows that she can date whatever gender she wants. Teach her that nice guys and girls do win, and teach her, preferably through example, to choose partners based on qualities that matter and not what’s between the legs, inside wallets or behind “mysterious” demeanors.

Teach her that she is whole alone.

Help her to be proud of her femininity when (and if) she discovers it, and teach her to appropriately equate this word with strength.

Encourage her to develop her voice. Reassure her that she can be loud and large when she wants to be.

Remember, if you’re also a woman, that she is not you and that just because she’s a girl, this doesn’t mean you will share experiences, perceptions or personalities.

Share your heart and your experiences with her, though, so that she becomes familiar with intimacy.

Kiss her and hold her and hug her for no reason. Let her know that she owes no one any of these things.

Toss her giggling, toddler body into the air. Wrestle with her and don’t tell her to “be careful” when she shows signs of being a daredevil.

Show her how to cook, do laundry and clean—not because she’s a girl, but because it will help her be self-sufficient.

Make sure she understands that “being good” doesn’t mean putting herself last or being small. Rather, it means being authentic and kind (and to herself too).

Dry her tears with your love and willingness to witness her pain, but don’t tell her that her crying should be stopped or that it’s a weakness. Show her that it takes courage to wear an occasionally tattered heart on her sleeve.

Tell her she’s beautiful. Tell her she’s beautiful when she’s just woken up, when she’s sweaty and not only when she’s all dressed up. Tell her she’s beautiful when she’s laughing and sharing her ideas and baring her soul.

Allow her to wear bright red lipstick when she’s old enough, but help her develop self-confidence without it.

And, most importantly, raise her not as a girl, but as the individual who she already is—and love her for it.

Photo: Danielle Moler/Flickr.

The post How to Raise a Girl. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.

I used to occasionally hold hands with my best friend in high school in the hallways, walking from class to class.

I remember one time another student asking if we were lesbians, and, quite sincerely, I remember being astonished.

No, we weren’t—yet, actually, we’d already determined through the closeness and ease of our relationship that if wecould be, we would, at times, find this preferential (insert inappropriate teenage jokes).

Another friend, one of the dearest women of my life, has been known to me since she was born—with our mothers friends—and I’m thankful for someone knowing my childhood, my parents and me.

And a friend who means the world to me has been a part of my heart since we rekindled our connection at the gym early one morning before the sun had risen, about 13 years ago. We’ve been through babies being born and then growing into toddlers and children, relationships floundering and, though we aren’t the same religion, we’ve celebrated our mutual holidays and life events together with more joy than you could probably imagine.

And I’m fairly sure I’ve mentioned before that friendship between women is a most valuable and glorious thing.

It is.

Unfortunately, yes, friendships will come and go, but this doesn’t diminish their purpose or their importance.

Because some will, indeed, grow and blossom and flourish while others will wilt and whither—re-growing new friends in different soils—and it’s not always a flaw of either person or a sign of something inherently gone wrong.

Rather, people come into our lives because we’re seeking—consciously or not—their challenge or support.

We desire  comfort and guidance or our own personality needs to learn how to prosper during adversity.

My mother is perhaps my best friend.

She knows me—and she loves me anyways. (Wink, wink.)

Seriously, it’s wonderful to come through a relationship as a child and move into adulthood with the person who held your hand and led you when need be, to now be next to you, holding your hand with nothing but mutual admiration and true knowledge of who you are—who you really are—and love you through and through.

(I hope to also have this with my own daughter some day, but, right now, I’m too busy being her mommy.)

This morning, for example, my mother and my daughter were both at my house—my parents having slept over—and I was getting my tiny lady ready for her day and my mom was helping me do things around the house and one of the things that I did was take that rare, rare time to talk on the phone with a friend.

And we talked for so long that we needed a pee break.

Now…that’s a good conversation.

Because friends, in my experience at least, have been those with whom there isn’t ever enough time.

I was sitting at coffee with one of the closest people to my heart—after just seeing each other the previous afternoon—and we equally commented it’s strange that we still have so much to catch up on.

And then friends are, equally, those with whom no words are necessary or have to be shared, if not needed.

My sister and I can talk—or not talk—for hours.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T9jxSOxtYHs

Because I love my friends—each and every one of the women who have walked into my life and heart. (And I also have fondness—and I mean this—for those who have exited—although, gratefully, those are few.)

However, let’s not kid ourselves: friendship takes hard work.

All relationships need nourishment and attention if they are meant to advance.

But real kinship is more than emotional fertilizer and effort—it’s acceptance.

It’s this:

And this:

And it’s not romantic love—it’s more intricate than that.

Because sex and other forms of intimacy can serve to smooth over arguments and irritations and we don’t have that option—or these luxurious solutions—with friends.

But we have love.

So, to all the girls I’ve loved before, thank you for helping me become who I am and for enriching my life (even when it wasn’t easy for us)—and there just isn’t enough time for that phone chat that needs a potty break.

Photo: Author’s own.

This article was first published on elephant journal.

The post To All the Girls I’ve Loved Before. first appeared on Jennifer S. White.