As similar as Isobel and I are in temperament; nose, hair and eyes; and apparently sleep habits, I see a great divide looming.
Me? I wear makeup, like once a month and go for eye-enhancing effect. But other than that, I have a constant ponytail and unconcealed baggage. My daily wardrobe is jeans and a teeshirt or tank, with some sort of casual hoody or sweater to keep me warm. I shave my legs only when they’ll be bared to the general public and in general, if I am going to wear one of my two dresses, it’s over fitted jeans. That’s going all out, though I suppose I am slightly girly, if you were to check out the amount of little, floral-covered, low rise undies I’ve got.
With Isobel, It started last month, when she got a wack of hand-me-downs from 3of3’s closet and another friend. She came home from Mr. Lady’s house looking oh, so sweet and innocent and cutesy. And she decided it was dress city. I, being the cool tolerant lazy mom that I am, said fine, but put a limit over her head: no more than three dresses a day.
But, I’ve got to admit, it’s getting worse. And I’m concerned.
There’s been a recent obsession with panties (even the word makes me shiver) – leading her to sleep with her seven Dora-printed, two-sizes too big briefs. She walks around the apartment clutching them, showing them to me over and over. I’ve had to forcibly remove them from her little hands, lest she walk out the door with an assload of ginch. She drops some on the floor, and then FsTFO, “Mama. UH OH. Panties! Mama, Panties Go Down!” I suppose I’m supposed to rescue them or something, but all I can think is, “will Panties be the word that replaces ‘no’? And is that a good thing?”
I don’t know what to do about this situation other than to potty train her so that she can feel confident that no matter what she’s doing, where or when, she’ll have panties by her (back) side.
Then today, it got even worse. (Let’s keep in mind that my outlook might be distorted slightly by her lack of naps in the past five days, night wakings and a general refusal to use the stroller – or walk, often. This means she’s wilty and cranky, I’m wilty and cranky, and I end up carrying 25 pounds and not being able to smoke. These are not rose-coloured glasses I’m wearing.)
Today, is the 3rd birthday of one of her friends, so we ended up going to the usual playgroup and dragging a wrapped Dora chutes and ladders game and bubbles schwag with us. But our present was far outdone by a fairy princess costume. Which, of course, the little girl rocked out in and it made all of the other little girls follow her around, exclaiming, ‘happy birthday,’ with intended sincerity and a severe need to wear the damn tutu.
Isobel didn’t join the ass-kissing parade. Thank god. But when we got home afterwards?
Totally needed to wear panties, a dress, her fairy wings from last Hallowe’en (that were stashed in the closet so well, I’d forgotten where they were) and to drink some milk from only. a. purple. cup.
Frick.
I’m losing sight of my planned boarding betty. Fast.
