Here’s a little known fact:
I was not happy to find out we were having a girl. After having a boy, I wanted another boy. People were all “Oh now you’ll have one of each, a perfect family!” As if having two boys somehow gypped me of my perfect family. As if you have to have the quintessential boy and girl in order to have a complete and proper family. I so hate that comment. I was wildly jealous for awhile of other people who were having a boy. How greedy is that? Here I am, some infertile bitch, who gets knocked up, naturally, quite by surprise, actually wishing for what she wasn’t getting? I should have been strung up assassination style, blindfolded, with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth.
But I knew boys. Changing them was easy. The poop hangs on the outside. There’s no secret crevices. Do I wipe up? Do I wipe down? SOMEONE HOLD MY HAND! All I thought about was, the drama and the attitude, and the karma my mother has wished on me since I was able to comprehend her burning desire to have a child just like me. It took me a couple of months to warm up to the idea, and of course, I’m not that much of an asshole to say that first and foremost, I just wanted her to be healthy, with all digits and appendages in tact. That cliche saying is totally true. But once I warmed up to having a girl, it was like:
Do you realize what this means? Dresses, and tutus. And pink! And living vicariously through my daughter by spending exorbitant amounts of money on ebay for vintage toys (thanks, Mom, for letting all of my shit rot away in the basement) so that I can relive my childhood. I’m like the ultimate mother, using her daughter for her own personal happiness. And I told the Meester to keep his grubby mits off of her, with his Star Wars crap. He got his boy, who has Star Wars sheets and knows the difference between a Storm Trooper and a Rain Trooper and a Whatever whatever trooper. I wanted a girly girl.
And in all honesty, I didn’t force it on her so much as nurture vs. nature has fully kicked in. While she will play with trucks and the tool bench, she loves beyond all that is everything and cosmic in this world, her “dollies” (dahyes, as she says, in a zombie like voice, while doing the frankenstein walk towards anything that looks remotely like a doll. (Frankenstein walk sold separately)). She has her stroller and her little cradle (both gifts) and baby bottles. She loves my handbag and shoes and brushing your hair. This is what karma is all about. For every bad behavior that they inherit, leaving your parents laughing in your face (because they don’t even TRY to stifle it anymore), you get something so magical, like a love of something that you both share a common interest in. So about a month and a half ago, I found a practically brand new, full sized re-issue of Rainbow Brite. Pre-whoreification. What? That’s totally a word. And naturally, she loves it. So I went on to ebay and ordered her the entire gang (save for Rainbow Brite, which was passed down to her by my sister) of Rainbow Brite dolls. Of course she could give a shit about those. No, they’re too small. ”Woman, these don’t fit in my stoller. They’re way too little, and do you expect me to walk around like this and face the embarrassment? Now fetch me that BIG dolly!”
I hope that someday in the next few years, she’ll take an interest in them.
which up close, looks like:
Oh who am I kidding? Like I need a reason like kids, to actually buy something like this. Because this is like the most awesome thing to ever exist (aside of real unicorns, of course). This is what you see in the dictionary, right next to the word awesome (next to the picture of a real unicorn). The only thing that makes this shirt a shade disappointing is that there’s no cut in there for candy, so I can’t say that the shirt is entirely accurate. But hey, still awesome and if you don’t like it, then we’re breaking up.
Oh and by the way, does anyone happen to have a Canary Yellow doll, in good condition? I need it to complete my her set.