In about 5^th grade I thought, “I hope when I have a daughter she’s not too pretty. Pretty girls…they don’t understand anything.”

In fact, when I was pregnant, of all the things I feared, I feared having a daughter.

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I had one big birthday party when I was 6. It was a whopper, my whole grade was there. We ran across the lawn with raw eggs on spoons. There was a huge array snacks and more games. A long table made of planks and concrete blocks, perfect for 6 year olds to fit around. The radio was