You may be aware that I am not the most innately feminine woman. If you see me looking like a proper lady, it is guaranteed that it is through some personal effort and sheer force of will. Then again, it took quite a bit of cajoling to get my mother to wear pearls with her dress suit on a Dress Up Day at work, so one could argue that I come by it all honestly.
She likes pink. I enjoy pink every now and again these days, but certainly went through a long and protracted anti-pink phase. She likes her dresses. She likes her pretty swimsuit. She can’t dress herself yet, but my goodness does she want to. Since I can’t make my kid into a Mini Me, but just accept that she’s her own person from day one, I help her accessorize throughout the day. I help her put her sweater on when she brings it to me. Or her shoes.
Oh, her shoes.
I think “shoe!” might be her favorite word (out of about three dozen plus that she can say now). When we are out at a store and she spots a display of shoes, she lights up. “Shoes! Shoes!” She is delighted.
She owns three pairs of shoes, yet I have changed her shoes at least four times in one day before. She’s not even two yet and I’m already fearing the teenage years.