Birthday Daisy

I went to the sixth birthday party, grownup version (though this year there is no kid version since D is being taken on a mom-and-daughter trip to Disney), of my friend A's daughter Daisy. I have known Daisy since she was in utero, and actually lived with her mom and dad during that time. She was born during the last terrible winter we had; I remember how well her Mom maneuvered a Subaru through giant snowbanks, and how we would both get all wrapped up in scarves and hats and coats before driving into Cambridge, where we both worked.

Six is such a nice age for a girl. Daisy had on a fantastic polka-dotted party dress complete with crinoline. Plus shiny pink patent-leather shoes, pink sweater, and awesome pink-and-white birthday cake party hat. When I arrived she asked me, very grown-up-like, if I was still doing yoga. Then she showed me her yoga pose, which was the one where you sit with the soles of your feet pressed together, and the palms of your hands pressed together at your heart.

Then we played with her Zhu Zhu pets pizza play set, the pizza restaurant apparently a cover for a rock-star hamster with a pink and black Mohawk. Daisy informed me that nobody liked the pizza because of the name of the restaurant. I told her maybe the real reason nobody liked the pizza was because it was full of hamster hair.

Later we clasped hands and spun in circles in front of her pile of birthday gifts. Then, because it was fun, we did it again.

I gave her a small but important gift: her very first bottle of nail polish. It was the sweetest pinkest sparkliest one in the store. And while I am all for feminism -- and many of Daisy's presents were science-themed -- I think it is possible to be powerful and smart and pink and sparkly all at the same time.