Before MB turned into a big girl, I was such a better mother. I only had a few really specific visions for her life.
She can be anything she wants to be, I would think to myself, except a princess. I hate that princess crap.
I read a lot of articles about how the Disney princess industry was basically a gateway to the early sexualization of young girls, and smugly swore that no child of mine would be caught dead in princess attire.
I’m pretty sure my mom was shaking her head and rolling her eyes and mouthing into the phone: JUST YOU WAIT.
Actually she probably said it out loud, but I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.
I went so far as to refuse to let her anywhere near a tutu for the longest time because to me everything involving tulle only led down the same path towards a plastic crown and high-heeled dress up shoes.
And now, well.
I’m still not both-feet-on-board with the princesses, but between the princesses and Tinkerbell & co, MB has spent many happy hours playing dress up [sometimes even by herself!]. I can even thank the fairies in part for her potty training.
And let me tell you, that would go a looong way towards changing my view on just about anything.
Really? You’re going to poop on the potty? Let mommy get you a Big Mac.
Last week I feel like I finally crossed a line. A made up line in my head, but still, a line.
I asked Mary Bullock what she wanted her reward to be for finishing her swim lessons.
Answer: Princess. Swim. Cover-up.
I was sort of hoping that such a thing did not exist. Or that it would take MB so long to finish swim lessons that she would forget.
Dang it, Disney. And wouldn’t you know that the very next day MB swam like a fish?
Lord and Visa, forgive me for what I am about to do…