Replacement RufflesFebruary 3, 2010 at 5:55 pm | Posted in Lollipop | 9 Comments
About this I will be clear: I did not want a “princess” daughter. No pink. No frills. No tutus. Nada.
We didn’t find out Lollipop’s gender for this very reason. I didn’t want that crucial bit of data influencing the way we planned for her arrival and imagined her little personality. Our kid could climb Mount Everest or join the NYC Ballet or eat paste. Pink or blue paste.
No preconceived notions from us. Just our kid being whoever our kid wanted to be.
Blame it on the Hormones
My husband thought I was a little nuts — to his credit he kept this mostly to himself — but I was adamant. We would be gender neutral. The nursery. The layette. The toys. And the blue car seat we planned to borrow from friends? Well, it would be great for a boy or a girl. So there.
Enter Lollipop. A girl. Friends and family who had showered us with lovely yellow and green and giraffe-y gender-neutral items suddenly did an about-face. A girl?? She needs pink, she needs it! So arrived in the mail: pink onesies, pink blankets, pink animals, pink books (about pink cupcakes and pink rainbows).
Babies R Us shareholders everywhere rejoiced.
Whatever You Do, Just Don’t Mention the “C” Word
Since Lollipop looked like a little old man for the first few months, I actually found myself pleased with our never-ending parade of pink. I could dress her in something pink, take her out in public, and have people tell me how beautiful my daughter was. (The borrowed blue infant carrier tripped them up occasionally, but mostly, they were spot on. My postpartum hormones appreciated this.)
Even still, I tried to maintain the gender-neutral mindset. As she grew, I offered her trucks just as often as dolls. I read her books about bugs just as often as bunnies. And I never, ever, not even once, mentioned the name “Cinderella.”
Mom on a Mission
Which brings me to the present. And what I’ve been doing feverishly this last week. Please don’t laugh.
I’ve been scouring Craigslist for a Cinderella dress for Lollipop. And not her first one. Her second.
Why do we need another? Because my one-day-will-climb-Everest-and-do-all-the-things-boys-do-just-as-well-if-not-better daughter eats, sleeps, and breathes Cinderella. (When I’m not trying to woo her with Princess Leia, that is.)
I kid you not. She sleeps in this dress. She eats in it (hence the permanent grape jelly stain on the beaded bodice). She agrees to take it off only nanoseconds before she gets in the tub. She wears it to school, the grocery store, her gym class.
And the repairs it needs are beyond my sewing and glue-gunning abilities.
All About the Bling
How, I ask myself, how did this happen? How did she even learn about Cinderella? And I have no idea. None.
But what I do know is this: From the beginning, she gravitated to princess dresses at other houses we visited. Costume jewelry, shiny high heels, feather boas, she could not get enough. Even when the other kids went outside to play on the trampoline or swing or eat rocks, Lollipop stayed in. Dressed to the nines.
Because You Can Totally Climb Everest in Heels
Oddly, this all-things-princess fascination doesn’t bother me like I thought it would. She is clearly choosing this. And she is learning to be whoever it is she’s going to turn out to be.
Granted, she’s learning one tiara at a time. But this is what I wanted for her all along.
And I’ve finally found her a new Cinderella dress. (Well, new to us … Have you seen how much those cost at the store??) It’s a package deal, comes with four other dresses. I’m going to pick them up tonight.
For my princess.