clothes added because if my daughter goes upon a rampage destroying a city, she won't be allowed to dress like a hussy.
That's my husband's height. I'm 5'6"--not a bad height, but just one inch above average. There's a wide range of heights in both of our families, but no one who is that tall.
I'm terrified of the day when my daughter hits puberty and becomes the inevitable surly, moody teenage girl. Her possible future height has given me yet another thing to worry about it.
I want her to be confident and love herself and her body. I don't want her to worry about stupid people who make stupid comments. I've come up with three plans of how to deal with this.
Plan A: Wrap her in bubble-wrap and home school her. Never let her leave the house.
Plan B: Teach her sassy responses.
Q: "How's the weather up there?"
A: Cloudy with high probability of annoying.
Q: "You must play basketball!"
A: You must play miniature golf!
Q: "How did you get so tall?"
A: My mother and father hung me up for an hour every evening with weights attached to my ankle. They did it because they believe in the ten tenets of Zoobooblia, our Lord and Alien. The taller you are, the closer you are to Master Zoobooblia. Would you like a religious tract explaining about the starship coming of our Master?
Plan C: Accompany her everywhere and punch anyone who is mean.
I will take down those 7th grade bullies like nobody's business. I ain't scared.
I suppose Plan D is to be a good role model for self-confidence and loving one's own body. But I'm still rather partial to Plan B.