I don't know how it is raising boys but with girls, well, there are days that I can feel their future teen years breathing down my neck. It resembles the approaching sound of thundering paciderms or a runaway locomotive. Today is one of those days.
There are a few things in motherhood I consider highly under-rated, one of which is dressing my children. I really feel like each morning, when I go into their closets, it's like I am 8 all over again, dragging that worn case of Barbie clothes out and lovingly searching through the small piles to find just the right thing for my dolls to wear for the day. A few months ago, I realized that Hannah, especially, would much prefer to do the selecting on her own. Sad Mommy milestone. Reluctantly, I have relented (difficult as I am --some might say-- a control freak). Today her chosen ensemble was an army green skirt with a flouncy hem, a lavendar blouse with butterflies on it, bright purple leggings, and blue flip flops. (YOU SEE? THIS IS WHY I NEED TO DO EVERYTHING MYSELF!!! REALLY, IT IS NOT A CONTROL PROBLEM!). The blouse also has a cute flouncy hem and elastic in the waist but she tucked it in to her skirt. To me, this looked ridiculous so I kindly suggested she untuck it. Torrents of tears and protests later, beleagured from WARdrobe woes, I finally say, "Hannah, just trust me. It looks better hanging out than tucked in." To which she responds, "I want to look like a princess. I don't want to look like a big Mommy!"
I. Don't. Want. To. Look. Like. Mommy. BIG. MOMMY.
Ouch.
Good luck with that one, my clone.
I think I am going to look at my "World's prettiest Mommy" mirror that she made me last week in Sunday school until I feel better. Lol.
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