It seems fitting that today of all days, the ladies in our house awakened first. Is it possible we could feel it, the thrill of today’s possibility, the call to lady action, the groundswell of the pantsuit nation mobilizing?
We tiptoed downstairs to fill out my ballot together, Charlotte insisting that we vote for “girls only” and clutching to her chest the page where we’d drawn our line for “President.” And by 7:03 am, we rolled into our local polling place to deposit our yellow envelope and collect some well-earned “I Voted” stickers. As I idly glanced at the line of waiting voters, I saw friends and neighbors and…many, many little girls, holding their mothers’ hands as they patiently waited for their turns.
Waited for their turns.
And then I cried, for the second time this election. (The first, when my ballot had arrived in the mail and I showed Charlotte where Hillary Clinton’s name was listed.) I’ve never been HRC’s most ardent fan, but the idea of a capable, accomplished, brilliant woman becoming president? And my five year-old daughter getting to witness it? All.The.Feels.
I’m not with her because she’s a woman; I’m with her because she’s the candidate most qualified to lead. But wow, does the fact of her womanhood make this election feel so…big. Tonight, I’ll be staying up late with my favorite nasty girl, hoping to witness history being made and another future possibility opening up to her. (In case the whole mommy-doctor-ballerina-gymnast thing doesn’t work out.) I’ll probably cry again. Because I’m a girl. Deal with it.
PS, I hope they planned a ballon drop for Bill because, boy, does he love them.