I'm a rebel.
Always have been.
The sort of rebel who holds doors open for old ladies and tries to give herself a blond streak with Sun-In, but hidden in back. The kind of rebel who does her homework and won't let anybody copy it and gets upset when she gets an A-. The sort who loves Robert Smith of the Cure and expresses her dark devotion by occasionally wearing a black shirt and some heavy eyeliner.
Okay, so I'm not as rebellious as I used to think. But today I discovered that my college-era second ear piercing was still open*. So now I have FOUR piercings!
Yeah, I'm totes wacky.
Anyway, I always thought my kids would be punkified with skulls and black clothes and tiny little army boots. I thought they'd grow up playing Pirates vs. Ninjas, and I expected my daughter to write "I <3 the Goblin King" in her black leather journal.
I have birthed the Queen Poobah of the Girly Girls.
Her Royal Pinkaliciousness.
She who requires jewels and glitter as part of her daily wardrobe.
She who spends her Easter money on a collection of clip-on Little Mermaid jewelry.
She who refuses to wear jeans.
Did you hear that?
She won't wear jeans.
"I'm being her," she says, pointing to her DVD of Barbie Swan Lake.
"I'm the princess fairy, the one with the toe shoes. But I'm a cheerleader, too."
And I say, "Do you want to watch Wallace and Gromit, buddy?"
And she says, "No, thanks. I'm just a princess."
Those are the shoes she chose yesterday. Her Summer Sandals.
I wanted Keens. No. I wanted Crocs. No. I wanted something durable and comfortable and ergonomic that would allow her to play and run and jump. No, mom!
She wanted glitter and jewels.
"Jewels, mama," she breathed. "Those shoes have JEWELS!"
Most kids rebel by... uh... being rebellious. My kid rebels by being mainstream, the dream consumer of the Disney corporation. A pink-and-purple princess with leanings towards ballet, gymnastics, and cheerleading.
She isn't sure if she'd rather be a mermaid or a fairy, and when she puts on her Ahsoka Tano costume to have a lightsaber fight with her brother, she wears dainty white gloves and a flowered skirt.
And know what?
I'm okay with it.
I'm going to love her and celebrate her for exactly who she is, even if it's nothing close to who I am.
Well, as long as it doesn't involve soccer or clogging.**
* Wow, body. Those are some mad healing powers. Way to definitely not heal yourself there.
** Everyone has their limits. My limits involve a lot of kicking.