5 is the new Jr. High

Josh and I decided not to find out what gender of child we were having with our first pregnancy. (Really, I decided but that isn't very relevant to the topic at hand.) While never actually asking God specifically for a boy (it seemed too greedy since I had been harping at Him for 3 years to just have a baby.), I wanted a boy. I had several reasons for wanting a boy and they all really came back to one thing:
Junior High.
Junior High and High School is an awful time to be a less than beautiful, talented, wealthy girl. I know it is hard on boys, too, please don’t miss my point by getting bogged down on who has it worse. The thing is, boys get over it for the most part. They hit a wall (or the offender) and move on with their group of friends. But girls are so vicious and manipulative, even to their friends. The heartache I experienced as a teenager was usually at the hand of someone who claimed to be my friend. The teasing, the ignoring, the clichés, the rejection were all awful and I didn’t want to watch my daughter experience that.

And as I began to come to terms with raising girls, I knew they would one day either be teased or be the teaser. I thought that day would come around 5^th or 6^th grade.
Not Pre-K.

As Bren sadly tells me about being rejected by her school friends because at that moment she wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t wearing the right colors, a cooler friend has come along, etc, a rage boils up inside of me that I don’t quite know how to deal with.

I want to tell her those girls are stupid.
I want to go tell those girls that I don’t think they are very pretty either.
I want to devise a way for them to feel that same rejection.
I want to hunt down their Mama’s and tell them how hurtful their daughters are.
I want to…I want to…I want to take my baby in my arms and cry because MY heart is broken because HER heart is broken.

Instead, I tell her something very difficult for an almost 6 year old to understand.

I tell her that there will be people like that her entire life, even when she is as old as me. That for whatever reason some girls can’t be friends with more than one person at a time or don’t know how to inclusive with all their friends. And those same girls will most likely be that way when they are almost 36, as well. The best thing she can do is to not let it hurt her and choose someone else to play with. She doesn’t understand, but how could she, I don’t understand either.

I tell her not be like them. I tell her to be a good friend. Always. To everyone.

I tell not be like me either. I encourage her to not let those girls affect how she thinks of herself, to not believe their hurtful words and to not change who she is in an effort to be their friend.

And after she casually tells me she will just be their friend when they want to be her friend, I go to my room and cry because I think maybe, just maybe, Bren might be smarter and stronger than me. And that is a good thing.