We have all been there, on one side or the other, though we may not remember it. I certainly don’t. Based upon all of the books written by all of the “experts” out there, it’s probably for the best. I’m pretty sure my mother screwed up somewhere. I’m nearly positive I already have. And yes, I am one of those mothers who reads all of the books.
At her own insistence, we began this Monday afternoon. Fascination won out. And now my little tiny girl sits perched on her potty seat, flipping through a Time magazine. Seriously, Time. To be fair, she is enamored with a photo of Prince Somebody on a polo pony. I grind my teeth a little when she asks me to read Cinderella for the 17th time. I’m worried that not only has she decided to grow up too fast, but she really wants to be a princess.
So sometimes I tell her my own version of Cinderella. The version where Cinderella grew up in the projects and saved her babysitting money to buy a used sewing machine and drafting table and made clothes. This Cinderella wins a scholarship to some internationally acclaimed university and gets her MBA; now she owns a multi-billion dollar company making handbags. (My apologies to Coach, Dolce & Gabana, and all the rest.) There is no prince. Cinderella simply doesn’t have time for polo ponies.
Luckily, she seems to enjoy both versions. Not nearly as much, though, as her hard-earned Hello Kitty underpants or the M&Ms I pop into her mouth after what feels like hours of waiting. The wonderful part about this week is I can see that she is totally in control (of herself, me, daddy, everything) and she loves it. It is a wonderful game. And I know that if she approaches life the way she is approaching this, she will be okay.
Now, if I can just stop drinking coffee and eating M&Ms all day, everything will be right with the world.
(crossposted from Cowbird)