And So It Begins

My mother always described me as being strong willed as a child. "I just couldn't do anything with you" she says. By the time I turned 3 years old I refused to let anyone else dress me. Not even old enough for school, I clearly knew more about fashion than my mother. After countless shopping trips and seeing what she chose to wear to my wedding as mother of the bride, I still do.

We're not here to discuss my mother's lack of style though. We are here to talk about how much trouble I am in with my own daughter. As you know, M is now 3 years old. She has a huge personality for such a tiny girl. When we take her to the pool she starts off by announcing her arrival, "Hi friends! Here I am!". Then turns to us, extends her arm palm up and sweeps it in front of her as if she were a queen presenting her people from atop a balcony in her castle. "These are my friends Mom"! "Oh? When did you meet them? Why haven't I met them?". She loves people so much and is the friendliest, most confident 3 year old I have ever seen. Yesterday, her Nana and I took her shopping while my car was in the shop. She helped pick her outfit, and by helped I mean I picked the skirt and she chose the rest.

When I was her age I had a similar outfit that I loved. White cowboy boots with tassels, a denim skirt with paint splatters, a white button up shirt with hearts trailing down one side and a hot pink cowboy hat (it was the 80's). Around this same time I also decided I wanted to be Dolly Parton when I grew up. I knew the first step to becoming Dolly would have to be the boobs. I literally prayed so hard for boobs so big they would knock people over. God blessed me but not as much as he blessed Dolly. Thank God. My fascination didn't stop with the cowgirl attire and praying though. I realized after a few nights of praying that nothing was happening and I needed to take matters into my own hands. After coming to the conclusion that bras made your boobs grow, I stole my mother's bra. It fit almost perfectly which had to be a good sign, right? Not for my mother, I'm sure. I put it on under my shirt and wore it most of the day. My mom had errands to run that day and halfway through the day the bra started to itch and became increasingly uncomfortable under my shirt. While sitting in the back of the car, I carefully removed the bra and put it in my purse. Growing Dolly sized breasts can wear a girl out and I needed a break. I had every intention of going back for the bra later but before I could resume mission jumbo boob, my mom found the bra. What a snoop. Clearly she needs to learn a thing or 2 about respecting the privacy of a preschooler. I remember her being very concerned at first and asking why I had the bra. Why, to grow boobs of course Mother! After that, I remember her laughing and me being very offended. Growing boobs to become Dolly Parton is serious business and nothing to laugh about. I didn't let it destroy my dreams though. I still want to be Dolly.

While we were shopping yesterday, M picked up a tiny little training sports bra as we were heading into the fitting room. She insisted on "trying on boobs" and then buying the bra. It was surreal having the same discussion with my 3 year old daughter that I so clearly remember having with my own mother over 25 years ago. I tried not to laugh too much, I know how important deciding to grow boobs can be.