We thought we had turned a corner. We thought there was for sure some improvement. We were excited that she’d be branching out. We were excited that there would be some variety. There was a celebration and such anticipation to showcase, runway style, each and every piece. We were positive that the Elsa doll would no longer be the best dressed member of our family.
I had eyed that one with the cutout bow in the back with a dubious eye. Quick as a blink was that look I gave Grandma. Over and gone before anyone could even register it. So big was her excitement about all the excitement that I never uttered a word in caution.
She won’t wear that. It’ll bother her. There’s no way.
All the purchases from the dressing room fashion show were lovingly laid out for wear this week. Day one went off without a hitch- only a mild squabble about how the picture on the shirt is a French Bulldog and not a cat. This somehow led to an hour long platform about how we should get a Pug.
Day two was slated for the bow. The one with the lovely rose and teacup wishing you to be their guest. I’m sure it’s all the rage in the houses where its copies ended up. I can recall the sparkle in her eye as she went upstairs to get ready for the day. I can also recall how that sparkle was snuffed out when she descended, clutching the bow in her hand, and sporting Day three’s panda instead.
“Mom, I can’t wear this the bow bothers me and NO I can’t wear a tank top it doesn’t go high enough so I’m going to hang it on my door and we can do something with it maybe Elsa can wear it,” all stumbles out of her mouth in one breath.
Before I can even think, I swear she gets stuff she won’t wear just for that doll, she shrugs and heads into the living room to eat her breakfast.