So now that you all know about my lack of athletic prowess you probably think I am a girly-girl. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am a t-shirt and jeans, can't be bothered with make-up, haven't had my haircut in months, kind of girl. My husband wishes I were a bit more concerned with my appearance. Fortunately for him, he has a daughter.
When we first found out that we were having a girl, Matt was thrilled. I panicked. My mind moved quickly from how will I change her diaper (at least with boys you can see everything) to worrying about what she will wear, talking to her about getting her period, hearing her say she hates me, to stressing about whether I will like her husband. I went into a complete tailspin. Boys, I felt, were much easier. Maybe they were rambunctious, but little league games and watching football together were more my thing than playing dress-up and Barbies. Plus, girls can be so mean to each other. I've had personal experience on both sides of that equation.
My mother said, "At least she probably won't break everything." My good friend said, "Girl's are fine. You know, you are a girl. I think you'll understand her better than you think." My cousin said, "She'll talk to you when you get old. Boys get married and then forget about their mothers." Fair enough. I would try to like pink. I would fuss with her hair. I could do this.
Jane is every bit a little girl. She starts out her day by negotiating what to wear. "I want the blue dress, Mommy. And the yellow head band because the dress has yellow flowers, see?" If I had my way, I'd stay in my pajamas all day. She wants to get dressed-up at 7am. She puts on her clothes and stands in front of the mirror. Matt dryly comments, "Where did she learn that?"
She likes to carry around her play purse, holding her keys in one hand and her cell phone in the other. "I'm going to Wegmans!" she announces. That's definitely from me. I do go to the grocery store, just not the mall. She stands next to me in the bathroom. "I want you to spray me, too," she says when I put on perfume. "I want another make-up brush," she says, as she rummages around in my stash of free gift with purchase items.
Her most favorite thing is shoes. She likes to change shoes several times a day. She espec
ially likes to
hunt through my closet and dig up my fanciest high heels. Ones I haven't worn in years. Right after she gets a bath, before she's in her pjs, she races to her room to find princess shoes. "OK, Imelda Marcos", Matt jokes, "get your clothes on!!"
Jane got her cast off a few days ago. She's doing fine. It was a little traumatic when t
he technician cut through the bandages. She was also wigged out about how her skin looked, all flaky and discolored. She is moving it around alright. But the really great part, in her opinion, is that she can
now wear anything she wants again. Her favorite outfit is a dress that my mother knit for her to wear as a baby. She wears it over a shirt with pants like a Bohemian sweater. Whenever she wears it, people compliment me. I have to correct them and explain that she is the one who put the outfit together.
I would never have come up with something so fashionable on my own.
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