Fashionista 5.0

Fashionista 5.0

When I found out I was pregnant, after the initial “when are you due?” always came “well, what do you want, boy or girl?” Of course, my diplomatic answer was that what mattered to us most was that he or she was healthy. And, of course, that was the number one prayer. But, deep inside, I also followed that prayer with “God, please give me a girl…puullleeeasseee.” For what would I do with a boy? I am a girly girl through and through. I was picked last for all sports teams. I followed every fad in high school (Madonna, check. Flashdance, check. Bouffant hair like the latest country western star, check). I ran for campus activities chair freshman year in college so that I could be the hostess with the mostest. I have spent the equivalent of a down payment on a car in my lifetime on silly products and although not necessarily proud of that fact, will admit it.

So, after our first ultrasound when they said they thought it was a boy, I gulped and pushed my shoulders back thinking to myself, “you can do this, you can do this.” I rushed to the nearest shopping venue and immediately purchased the most adorable baby blue outfit for the little one to try to get into the spirit.

Thank my lucky stars (and certainly those prayers must have had something to do with it), they called me at 16 weeks following my amnio to tell me it was a healthy little girl. Hallelujah! The ultimate prize for the ultimate girly girl: a mini girly girl companion.

Now, fast forward five years. You get what you ask for. When the temperature plummets to zero degrees, we spend 30 minutes begging our little sweetie to don a pair of pants to keep her legs warm. For ski school last year, she insisted on a skirt over her snowsuit. Only recently, have pants entered the picture and that is largely due to her love of horses and riding for which pants are required.

Getting ready to go out is an exercise in style. Necklace, check. Hello Kitty chapstick/lip balm, check. Hair coiffed and styled, check. Snazzy shoes to match the outfit, check. Some mornings I sit back and wonder how this happened. I mean I was a girly girl but I don’t think I ever even thought about my outfit until like sixth grade!

Tonight, I received the ultimate confirmation. I have raised a fashionista. As background, I broke my toe a few weeks ago and found out that according to the orthopeds it is a “rare break.” Translation: surgery likely impending as well as the continuation of wearing a beautiful orthopedic boot shoe. So, I am standing in the background donning a cute little black dress and I utter to myself, “oh, where is the special shoe?” Immediately, the fashionista interjects, “oh, Mommy, how embarrassing. Do you really have to wear that?” Embarrassing, have I said that? Where, oh where did that come from? Then, “Mommy, what is that purple stuff on your towel?” “Oh, honey, that is the shampoo they gave me at the salon to try to keep my golden locks from being too golden.” (For those of you who don’t know, I spend a great deal energy turning previously dark brown locks into a more platinum shade of blonde.) “Well, Mommy, I think your hair looks the same. I would just tell them that there isn’t any reason for you to continue using the blue shampoo.” Well, thanks beauty consultant. I then head over to put a small coat of make-up on my face and as I go to shut the drawer, I hear “Mommy, I need to be powdered too.”

Ok, now I know that I have probably introduced too much princess stuff in her life, but there is NNOOO way that I have taken things to this level. This has got to be genetic. Her Auntie is also very girly so maybe it was a combined dose of she and I that led to this result. Or, maybe God is playing a funny joke on me. Regardless, as Tony toils over the retirement planning spreadsheets that have recently entered our lives, I think I had better have him insert a row entitled “fashionista support” because I can already tell that this little lady is going to be begging for Sevens instead of Levis and Juicy instead of Gap.

Nordstrom, here we come.