Finding Balance While Losing One's Mind -- OR -- Where In My Contract Is The Part About Having To Pull My Own Kids' Teeth? -- OR -- Do You Want Me To Pull This Car Over Right Now? -- OR -- Just a Minute - I'm On The Phone!

Friday, March 2, 2007

My daughter is such a girl


My daughter, Cleopatra-Queen-of-the-Nile, is seven and in first grade. We just finished redecorating her room, and at just the right time. Both Cleo and her brother, Robespierre, were world-renowned nose-bleeders, and since he'd used the room before she moved into it, the carpet looked like we'd committed a murder there. In addition, the carpet bore scars from two elderly dogs who never quite saw the logic in housebreaking. On the other hand, I was able to hold out long enough to pass by her "everything has has HAS to be pink" stage, and decorate the room in purple and green. Now that she's moved back in and arranged all the Madame Alexander and American Girl dolls on a long shelf above her bed, she spends much of her time dancing around the room and belting Hannah Montana songs into a hairbrush. Her cousin gave her one of those tiny pink stuffed dogs you get for making a purchase at Victoria's Secret, and last night she took quite a long time arranging the dog in various positions on top of pillows and under blankets so she could sleep with it and make sure not to injure it by rolling over on it in the middle of the night. Have I mentioned this is a stuffed animal?

So I want to know: where does all this girliness come from? It's not as if I was a tomboy (I'd have had to be at least passably athletic to qualify) but I distinctly recall that my main activity with dolls as a child was piercing Barbie's ears by driving straight pins through her head. I also recall that one of my favorite pastimes was pretending to be Superman. And as an adult, I have just enough traces of testosterone in me to watch football and baseball with a modicum of interest, and never to ask for driving directions; I figure if I drive in concentric circles long enough I'm bound to get there eventually.

And yet, here she is, Miss Girly Girl, practicing cheerleading moves on the basketball court, completely oblivious to the game swirling around her. She draws fairies and mermaids, and lots of pink and red hearts. And that girly giggle puts me away every time. I'm trying to store all these memories in my data banks so I can revisit them when she hits adolescence and flames shoot out of her head.

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