Am I alone in my grieving for the early childhood of my daughter? I look back to those pink and white glory days with nostalgia, dreaming of when she sat before a collection of dolls or plastic ponies, combing manes and tails and humming a tune from the latest Little Kitty movie.
Her bedroom was swathed in cotton candy pink tulle, large bows everywhere; a collection of powder puffs bright patches of color in the sunlight filtering through chiffon drapes. Where has that darling little girl gone?
Am I alone in my grieving for the early childhood of my daughter? I look back to those pink and white glory days with nostalgia, dreaming of when she sat before a collection of dolls or plastic ponies, combing manes and tails and humming a tune from the latest Little Kitty movie.
Her bedroom was swathed in cotton candy pink tulle, large bows everywhere; a collection of powder puffs bright patches of color in the sunlight filtering through chiffon drapes. Where has that darling little girl gone?