Eirinn has suddenly transformed from a rough and tumble tomboy into a prissy little diva. Just since Monday. It was a rapid transformation.
Her wardrobe once consisted of pants, shorts and t-shirts and a pair of brown Dora sneakers. All necessary when spending the day dumping sand over your head, skidding around in the grass, and purposely letting ice cream cones drip down your shirt. If people mistook her for a boy, she didn’t care. And she was happy, so we were happy.
Now (2.5 days later), new things make her happy. Dresses make her happy. Pretty dresses, to be exact. Today’s dress is navy blue, with a pink sash and a matching sun hat. With crinoline. Oh, and her finger and toe nails are painted a nice shade of fire engine red. And if they get chipped, she requires a touch up.
In the evenings, she gets extremely upset, to the point of temper tantrum, when we have to change her out of her pretty dress into pj’s. She doesn’t see why she can’t sleep in her pretty dress. She’s willing to sacrifice a comfortable sleep for fashion.
In the mornings, she is so excited to pick out the day’s pretty dress. We’re lucky she’s been given a hefty supply as gifts. She’s good for a couple of weeks without having to re-wear any. And when I dress her, she has to run to show Daddy how pretty she looks. She says “Look Daddy!” and does a beautiful ballerina spin.
I suppose we’ve taken a few steps back in the progress of feminism. Her happiness pivoting on how pretty she feels, and all. But you know what? It’s probably a phase. Probably a very short phase. And the important part is that she is happy. And she is.
We’ll save the bra-burning for her next phase.