The other day at dinner my not yet 2 ½-year-old daughter, Frieda, happily announced that she and her 8-month-old sister, Rosie, “are princesses.”
And so it begins.
Being the over-educated, Subaru-driving, Whole-Foods-shopping Mama that I am, I was horrified. What does this mean? Who could she possibly have learned this from? I immediately placed the blame on Theresa, that feisty 4-year-old who should have gone on to preschool last year, but is still spending her days loitering at daycare, corrupting my daughters. But I put on my game face, and decided not to make an issue of it. By the time I refocused my attention to the girls, they had moved on. I was relieved.
I’m trying hard not to worry about the princessification of my daughters. At least not yet. At this point, Frieda doesn’t really know what a princess is; in her mind, the concept of “princess” is vaguely related to pink, fancy, and shiny, and therefore it is desirable.
The truth is that Frieda isn’t the only one with princesses on her mind these days. I must confess that ever since the engagement of Prince William and Kate Middleton was announced, my interest in the royal family has been piqued. And even though I wasn’t so into the princess thing when I was younger (He-Man and She-Ra were more my style), I’ve got a new perspective on it these days.
Yes, you got it right. I want to be a princess. Read the rest of this entry →