I have heard time and time again that there are much better things to call a little girl than "pretty." Call her smart, humorous, call her strong. "Pretty" is too "nice" and "girly" of a word, and it is said to be meaningless. I can say just as many reasons why it is perfectly okay to call a girl pretty.

I have a 4-year-old niece who has been one of the most beautiful children on earth since the day she was born. I may be biased, but the reactions she gets from perfect strangers out in public make my doubts disappear. Every few steps we take someone oohs and ahhs over her. They chuckle at her bright personality and sassy strut. A woman will comment she wishes she has hair like Stella's. For it is tight ringlet curls with perfectly highlighted blonde and brown that shimmer in the sun. I am told she is so tall, and get asked how old she is. Her legs are muscular and stretch for miles. She is African American and spends hours outside. Her tan skin is something people spend money to achieve. Her lips look like they've been filled. They're perfectly pink and full. I will forever be jealous of them. Her eyes are deep brown, with eyelashes that reach the ocean. Her teeth glisten white, set in a textbook straight line. When she smiles and laughs, her entire face lights up. It is why I have so many videos for her to see when she is older. My niece Stells is stunningly beautiful. She is pretty. She likes pretty things. She would wear princess dresses and plastic high heels everywhere if she were allowed to... and sometimes she is. People think she is pretty. Our family, friends, strangers. People tell her she is pretty.

You know why? Because she needs to know she's pretty. She needs to know she's pretty before she grows up and realizes our world is full of ugly. Before she thinks strangers are judging her. Before she spends hours in a mirror. Trying to walk without a bounce. Taking hours to straighten her hair. Before she is too afraid to wear heels because she'll be taller than all the boys. She will wish she was pale. Or that classmates don't know she's black. She'll wish she didn't have black girl lips. She'll want blue eyes or green like her brother. She'll put on mascara before she dares go out in public. She will not know that she has never needed makeup, and never will. She will get older and want to whiten her teeth. Her face will not light up when she smiles and laughs anymore. A boy will have ruined that endless joy bursting from her every moment. She will not wear what she wants because girls at school will judge her. Before all this. Before all this she is pretty. I know she is, and for right now, she does too. So I want her to know forever how pretty she is. Without picking at her fat in a mirror. Or trying seven different brands of foundation to cover pimples. Without needing a boy to reassure her. At least if people tell her right now she's pretty, she believes it. Before she sees herself and the world as ugly, let her believe she's pretty.

Stella can always be smart, funny, strong. I have no doubt she will do great, big, amazing things each year she grows. Telling her, she is pretty doesn't take away from any of that. As her family, we will teach her that she can always make her own decisions about how she acts, dresses, what activities she chooses. I'm hoping one day she'll be a tall, muscular, starting point guard on a basketball court. But she always has been, and always will be, pretty. That is no better or worse than any other word to describe her.