I am a girl-mother.

I don’t mean I pull their hair back tightly in buns and make them stand in First Position while wearing ballet-pink from head to itty-bitty toe (although my stairs are at times peppered with dance bags and tap shoes).

I don’t make them wear dresses, or matching bows in their hair at all times. If the barrette falls out in the middle of a park outing, their hair will blow wild with sand and sunscreen rubbed throughout.

I am a girl-mama but I don’t force “girlness” on them.

But they do pick flowers for their braids and ask for nail polish. They twirl around in ruffles in the living room with fairy wands and plastic crowns. They ask to take dance classes and request dolls for birthday gifts. I don’t hop over toy cars on the carpet, but over miniature horses and lavender-sparkle legos.

My girls choose these things on their own. They like to walk in the woods and pick up bugs like any regular boy, but they also love all things princess-infused like pink beach towels and dressing their stuffed dogs in tutus.

And also, without my intentional direction, they are beginning to nurture each other like little mamas. My older daughter runs to her sister if she’s fallen down. She’ll pick her up, set her right, and then coo and hold her.

The little one watches her big sister for every emotional cue. If the older one is sad, Naomi will ask her what is wrong with a concerned look on her two-year-old face. She’ll express her “empathy” with some iteration of “Its okay, Hopey” and then try to make her giggle with a pretend-hiccup. She is learning to nurture in her own way.

And then, like surprise gift, unexpected and perfect, once in awhile, they will nurture me. Hope might let me put my head on her legs and she’ll smooth my hair. This afternoon, Naomi sat in my lap and instead of me rubbing her little toddler back, she ran her hand up and down my own. It was as if she did the only thing she knew how to do to “mother”me.

This “girlness”, a dim reflection of future-mothering, is innate to them. I haven’t had to teach them to watch out for each other, or even to transfer their need to mother something to their dolls or to me.

I like being this girl-mama. I like having dance bags and ballet-pink tights litter my hallway; I enjoy the trips to the horse stables for lessons and the purple princess dresses that fill their closets. I love these girls and I like having little-mamas in my home.