There was a time in my life when I truly abhorred the color pink. It was like taste aversion, but more like sight aversion. There was a time that the color pink reminded me of the pink curtains that flapped in the spring breeze above my bed while I laid there and overheard a conversation that no little girl should ever have to hear. There was a time that the color pink made my stomach churn the way it churned that spring day so many years ago.
Then the Lord continued His healing work in me. And by my senior year of high school, I begrudgingly purchased my first pink sweater.
The color eventually peppered my wardrobe, but never my decor, even when living in an all-girls freshmen dorm. My roommates decorated with lilac, hot pink, soft pink, and various other shades of pink and purple. My half of the room was blue and yellow.
Even when I found out I was expecting my first little girl, I could not bring myself to decorate her room in the classic little girl pinks and purples. I tried, really. But in the end, the thought of walking into a fluttery-curtain hued room made my stomach churn yet again. Chloe's room was green and red - decorated with cherries.
But slowly the color pink came to hold an entirely different association. Because now, pink smelled like a precious baby. Pink felt warm and soft in my arms. Pink was the color of her cheeks and the feel of her warm breath in the crook of my neck.
Over the last three years, pink has come to mean something beautiful.
Pink means putting these away twenty five times a day and knowing that they have been worn by pink little toes:
Pink means changing my name to "Mommy Barbie":
Pink means the smell of these wrapped around my little girls:
Pink means cloud blankets and goodnight kisses:
Pink means soft skin in warm baths:
Pink means the love of two beautiful little girls:
And now I love all things pink. The color makes my heart jump and my world make sense. Because, now, pink has made my life feel complete. My two, sweet little girls.