On her own, Lolo picked up on the fact that there are generally two kinds of people in this world, boys (eh) and girls (awesome). And, from her potty book, she is very aware that she is a real girl just like “Prudence.” Since then, she’s shown a natural affinity for things that involve “real” girls. She craves her ballerina “dancing girl” pajamas, her plastic police woman figurine and her fairy (fah-ee) girl sticker set.
The other day, I stopped by the “stoh” to pick up some replacement toothbrushes for the family, but they were out of the usual Sesame Street ones we get for Lolo. As we were exiting the aisle without a toothbrush, she started exclaiming “gahl, gahl, gahl too-bush”. She had spotted a Barbie toothbrush and was in love. The long hair, the stylish, flared denim pants and the twinkle in her painted-on-eye. She held onto it all day long. I made a mental note that this is where it begins: mothering a girlie girl.
We decided that until Santa arrives, she would completely enjoy a little dollhouse family to roleplay with. Suffice it to say that she wishes she was fashioned out of environmentally-friendly wood and 5-inches tall so she could more closely connect with this family. I mean really connect with them. The first day she had them, she just held them and moved them around the house together as if the having-ness was all she wanted to focus on. They were hers and they were wonderful.
A week later, she was totally into helping the family live out their suburban dreams. Stupidly, I gave into her polite request to bring the family on our dog walk. We bring books and toys all the time. Lolo keeps them in her lap or hands them to me when she’s done. Inexplicably, on this walk, at some point, without reason she tossed the real girl overboard. We were two blocks from returning home when I saw the “papa” doll slip out of her hand on the ground, so I did an inventory to make sure all the other family members were accounted for. I ransacked the stroller only to realize that we were down by the most important member of the team, the real girl. So, I trucked backwards through our dog walking route with my eyes glued to the leaf-laden ground. It was pointless I knew, but I did it anyway. In the end, I walked the same path three times over and only headed home because the sun was going down.
She didn’t get it. She walked in the door at home looking for the real girl in the playroom as if she would magically reappear. I was crushed. But, she just rolled on.
“No real girl here? Oh my look at that, there’s a real boy that the mama can take care of. His hair is nice, too.”
I did find a “Mexican Worry Doll” in one of my boxes of old stuff that I thought I could put to good use as a temporary replacement. I expected her to think it was awesome to have a girl back in the family. She looked at the doll with her old and dowdy dress, her head wrap that completely covers her hair, her cardboard arms (one of which is broken) and handed it back to me.
A real girl is on order from Amazon for 7 dollars.
stinkerbean 