Last weekend, my son finally agreed to a sleepover at his friend’s house. After numerous horror stories involving 2 a.m. phone calls and sleepy parents driving across town to pick up their sobbing child, I formed a bit of trepidation about this situation.

My son, a very sensitive homebody who cried when he read the notice from his teacher that his class was going on an overnight camping trip, could all too easily be the sobbing-at-2 a.m. child.

I kept my trepidation to myself, not wanting to spread the anxiety, and gave thanks that the friend only lived five minutes away.

On the eve of the big night, he ran out of the car and into the friend’s home, only to return to give his sister and me a hug when beckoned.

“I guess he’s all right,” I said to the parents.

“He’s fine,” the dad joked. “And, he’ll sleep great after we give him half of a bottle of Benadryl.”

Unlike some parents, sick humor is just what I need to feel comforted, so I smiled and said good-bye.

Once I was settled back into the car, my daughter asked, “Where is my sleep over?”

My heart sank in the all too familiar, “Oh shit, I forgot about my second born,” feeling.

“Honey,” I said as my mind quickly raced through cool activities I could bribe her with. ”Your brother is 7 years old, and this is his first sleep over. You’re only 4, so it may be awhile before you sleep at someone else’s house.”

She thought about this and then asked, “Can Natalie sleep at our house?”

“Sure, if her mom says it’s all right.”

I cursed my daughter’s ingenuity of picking her only friend who is a third child, meaning the one most likely to be given permission to sleep at our house. As a way to distract her from her scheming, I told her she and I would have a special night together.

And we did. After many rounds of Candy Land, a dance party in the kitchen, a spinning game which she excelled at and I failed at, having a very queasy stomach, and burgers and beer, well one of us had a beer, which is probably why I sucked at the spinning game, we went upstairs to read books.

While she brushed her teeth, I marveled at how often she is overshadowed by her incessantly talking older brother. It is only on rare occasions, such as this evening, that I am able to see who she really is and learn her thoughts on things and gain an insight into her brain and personality.

As if on cue, she skipped into the room, naked except for a hand-me-down, been-wearing-it-for-a-week-straight princess shirt, singing:

I love my vagina

I love being a girl

Because they get to wear pretty clothes

And are more interesting than boys

La, la, la, la , la

I love being a girl

She sang a few rounds of this and then yelled, “Girl power!” as she karate kicked the air.

Holy shit, I thought to myself, where did she learn that? Sure, I am all about girl power and used to take karate when I was young, but I have never said the words “girl power” to her, nor have I ever shown her any of my surely outdated karate moves.

Whereas my son is a mix of his dad and me, therefore I can almost always predict what his reactions and responses will be, my daughter is part of who I strive to be and part mystery. Her personality has been fierce, independent and truly her own from the minute she shot out of my womb screaming her head off.

Sure I could say that the fact that I am much more likely to have women over to my house than men, that our dance party consisted of almost all strong female vocal bands, and that I too share her favoritism of Snoopy movies, full of strong and bossy, with somewhat lesbian overtones, female characters may have had some influence on my daughter’s need to cover the man’s face in several family photos we received from friend’s and announce, “Now that’s better.”

But, singing a love song to my vagina? I wish I could take credit for that, but I can’t. That’s the beautiful, creative, mysterious part of my daughter that she comes up with all on her own.

Corbin Lewars (www.corbinlewars.com) is the founder of Reality Mom (www.realitymomzine.blogspot.com) and author of "Creating a Life" (Catalyst Book Press, 2010). She lives in Ballard with her two children.