I carried a small load of clothes into her "frozen themed" bedroom to put away while she slept so peacefully. Even to this day I could sit and watch my baby whos-not-such-a-baby anymore sleep. Minutes would turn to hours and I would be overwhelmed with pure unconditional love as I stared at such perfection. Today however, wasn't that day. So much to do during nap-time to prepare for evening. As I placed the pile of clothes at the foot of her bed I began to fold the pieces and sort them into their baskets to place into her dresser. Kitty cats, ti-dye, tutus, princess dress, after princess dress, after princess dress, and frozen...FROZEN....FROOOOOZEN, everything. I glanced over at the items in her closet, and notice the items at the bottom of her baskets. All still brand new, half never worn even once. My absolute favorite pieces of her wardrobe. The ones never running through the wash, because let's be honest, she refuses to wear them.
When I found out that I was pregnant with a little girl, I just knew that all of my tiny baby girl fashion dreams to make her exactly like me were about to come true. I couldn't wait for the pink Jordan's, nikey sweat suits, matching hats and toques and leggings with miniature knee high boots. My baby girl would be the best dressed walking Pinterest sporty-girl fashion board. Hell I even named her Quinn, no Quinn in my mind wears princess dresses and high heel slippers, no!!! Things of that sort are meant for Graycie's, Belle's, Sienna's and Gabrielle's, not QUINN'S!
Except… No. That didn’t happen.
I’ve said it before, and I will say it again. My girl is strong-willed. She knows her own mind, and when she sets it to do something, it is
impossible to deter her.
When she got to the age where she wanted to be involved in choosing her outfits, I knew that there would possibly be a few instances where she might not love what I had selected for her to wear. But I was not prepared for this to happen every blessed morning. Can I give you an illustration? Do you know how frustrating it is to tear off a piece of saran-wrap and keep it from sticking to itself while you attempt to cover an iced cake. It just keeps folding over and getting twisted and its just so frustrating. Right? Then you finally get it to lay right and it gets caught in the icing, so you quickly lift it and boom... up comes the icing and a nice chunk of cake with it. So much for cake presentation, good thing the BBQ is family only this time and they love you no matter what! Let’s just say that every day getting my Quinn dressed felt a little something like that… if you were trying to tear a sheet of saran-wrap and cover your iced cake… in a windstorm.
Maddening.
Every day was the same. I would go to her room, pick out something totally cool… outfits and name brands that I had spent good money on placing in her closet… and she would examine them, grab them, throw them and declare, "No Momma, Pwincess dress!”
But… here’s the thing. I’m the momma. I get the final say. Right? And I say these are cute clothes. These are tiny converse and an olive colored military jacket, oversized sweaters and cute leggings, Sweatsuits and Jordan's…
These are NOT A T-SHIRT WITH ELSA PAIRED WITH A PINK RUFFLE SKIRT, LEGGINGS AND SUNDAY SHOES OR ONE OF THE MILLION DISNEY PRINCESS DRESSES WITH SLIP ON SLIPPERS THAT WERE ONLY EVER SUPPOSED TO BE USED FOR DRESS-UP PLAY.
Doesn’t she know that I understand a little bit about style and would just desperately love for her to look… the way I want her to look?!
But something happened as I stared at her while folding her clothes I have loathed for so long. I realized my daughter is 2.5 and every morning I wake up and try to force her to look like… everyone BUT herself.
The outfits I pick out for her are no more Quinn than the Elsa costume I just hung next to them in her closet.
And so I’m done. Not because I’m frustrated. But because I should be the first person to help her find ways to be more herself instead of the first person to force her to look like everyone else. Do you know what I mean? I want her to know that her opinions matter. Who am I to break her little spirit? If I hear what she has to say now and listen to who she says "Kinny" is, then maybe I'll know how to help her when it's something bigger than wearing a princess dress to Walmart.
Soon enough there will come a day when the opinions of others weigh a little heavier on her heart. When what others think will play a bigger part in the decisions she makes.
But I’m thanking God that today is not that day. I’m thanking God that I still have the opportunity to change my mentality and encourage her to know her own mind, to make her own decisions and to trust that she has a Momma who will walk with her through every choice she makes up ahead for the rest of her life.
Because the truth is… if she can trust me to shout, “You got this, sweetheart! You are so good at being you” now with all the frills and fancy dresses… then maybe she can remember the echo of those words and my voice cheering her on later when she is making decisions bigger than her outfit.
They say that the relationship between a girl and her momma changes over time. They warn us that one day we wont be their favorite and they wont listen and copy everything we do anymore. But for now, while her little heart is still open and she cherishes everything I have to say, I am going to be not only her number one fan in everything she does, but my own cheerleader. The way I treat myself not only paints a picture of how I see myself, but I'm putting a brush in her precious hands and teaching her how to paint a picture of herself. I'm teaching her how to see her beauty and individuality by learning to see my own. I grew up convinced I was a mixture of Cher and Shania Twain so... if she thinks she is a princess, then dammit, "Pwincess Kinny" she is.
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