Some days, I think to myself, "I truly suck at being a mom to a little girl..."
I thought it on the day we had our recital pictures for Madalyn's dance class as I struggled to get her limp hair to even go up in a clippy, especially after putting all her hair up in velcro rollers only to take it out and find it had done nothing at all. I feel that way when I see little girls out and about with their moms all matchy-matchy with their little bows and coordinating socks and all sugared and spiced like a little freaking cupcake. I feel that way when I look at my little girl all stained from playing in the dirt in the yard or at the ball park.
It's not that I'm not perfectly content with my little girl and the way she is... it's just that I feel a little less qualified to raise a little girl than some of those other moms that can at least convince their daughters to stay clean and look like froofy little girls some of the time.
I've never really been froofy myself, though. Never been matchy-matchy with the clothes and accessories and what not. Never worn much jewelry (especially earrings... we all know that). So when I see other moms whose little girls look so adorable and clean and accessorized, it leaves me feeling slightly inadequate.
Inadequate is a word that plagues my internal vocabulary, in case you haven't figured that one out... I wish I could abolish it from my mind and never use it again. Even if I tried, I would do something, and I'm sure it would pop back into my mind.
Like today, I was feeling on top of the world. I visited Claire's - not for the first time, mind you, but for the first time in search of earrings - and was enjoying all it had to offer. Madalyn has kept an internal calendar of when we'd be able to put different earrings on. And I don't' blame her one bit. She loves all that sparkles and glitters, and she's definitely the type to bore quite easily of the rhinestoned daisies she's been wearing for six weeks now. I was so pleased with what I found... little hearts with dogs on them (that she spotted when we were in to have our ears done), little M's with pink rhinestones, a couple pair of flowers, a necklace, a pack of bows... I went nuts at the 10 for $10 racks! I found myself a few pair for now and some hangy kinds for later. I walked out of Claire's feeling the girliest I'd ever felt in my life - my very first earring purchase!!
Madalyn was thrilled. And, of course, she immediately wanted to change her earrings out. So I got out my alcohol, cleaned them off real well, sat her on the counter, and started to take out the ones in her ears. Problem was I couldn't get the back off... could not get it off to save my life. Well, I could probably get it off, but she was ouching and flinching and telling me it hurt. And I just wasn't sure if I could apply the right pressure I needed to get it off without taking her entire earlobe off with it.
Okay - plan B. I'll take mine off in hopes that she will push through the pain of the pressure to get to change them out.
Yeah... it hurts. These lobes are still incredibly sensitive. I got so tickled by it actually hurting (as I really thought Madalyn was exaggerating a little), and there we sat in the bathroom giggling about the fact that I can't get the backs off the stinking earrings. We decided that seven or eight weeks with the same earrings is not so bad after all.
So, here's the deal - I'm so not good at being a girl. And I am terribly afraid I'm passing the trait down to my own little girl. She seldom matches, though she believes she does. She usually doesn't have a bow in her hair, and if she does, revert back to the whole not matching thing. And well, she likes to get dirty at the ball park and play cars with her brother. She thinks it's funny to burp. In fact, she thinks all bodily functions are hysterical. We may not always look all sugared and spiced like some other gals out there, but we're happy.
Still working on that little devil inadequacy, but me and my girl know how to laugh and have a good time. Just don't ask me to help you change out your earrings.