Twirling, and Other Dangerous Princess Activities

After having two rambunctious, rarely sleeping, burping, farting, running full speed 24 hours a day, getting lost in the mall and hiding under clothing racks at stores kind of boys, I prayed for a girl. Don't get me wrong, I love my boys to bits but they can wear a mom out!! They were born 20 months apart to the day and for he majority of their youth up until recently, they have often been confused for twins. I was so ready for a prim and proper, pretty, dainty, tea party attendee who wore lacy dresses and curls in her hair and walked instead of ran and spoke without putting the word "butt" in every other sentence.

After finding out in my pregnancy that the little peanut was indeed female, I swear I got a double shot of estrogen on a daily basis. I was more sensitive and weepy than when I carried the boys; I was drawn to all things pink; I became increasingly excited that there would be another girl on my home team, after all, I was seriously outnumbered by the male factor in the house.

The nursery was pink and green with a wallpaper border of little mice playing house. The room oozed pink and frilly. I lovingly made her cradle bedding all girly and found smooshy pink blankets and teddy bears. I couldn't wait for this little bundle to arrive so the tea parties could begin.

When the bugger was head down for all of 20 minutes and flipped back the wrong way in my tummy, I should've gotten a clue.

Baby Girl was breach. Doctor and Aunt Nurse Amber tried to physically turn her in the womb before she was born so I could avoid a C-section. Let me tell you, that was the most uncomfortable thing. It felt like a mothership of aliens were taking over my body. The little peanut would not have it. She wanted to come out the window instead of a door.

Red flag. Seriously. How could a newborn baby girl be so stubborn?

Her name is Jillian. That's how.

Oh, she is all girl as far as pink and dresses and lace and acting like a princess goes. But there have been signs since that first day of hers to let us all know, she was going to make her mark on this world in her own way. If the birth wasn't a clue, her 2nd Christmas should've been, when she ran around the house wearing her brothers' huge Darth Vader helmet with the voice changing microphone and in a deep "I am your father" breathy voice, demanded milk from Mama.

If that wasn't enough yet, the obsession with dinosaurs should've been. Don't get me wrong---I LOVE that my daughter is well rounded and likes everything. I'd much rather have a girl who isn't afraid of bugs like I was (am) and who can run with the boys. But the day she got quiet in her room and I walked up to peek in and check on her and I found her sitting in a tutu, with a princess crown, and beat up high top tennis shoes, on the floor completely surrounded by dinosaurs and watched her play make believe with them, as one swooped in and demolished another and a pterodactyl carried off a carcass ....Yeah. My princess rules!!

And so it goes on. One morning a few years ago, she was about four, I dressed her up in a pink and brown floral outfit for church with a matching headband and sent her to play in the family room while I got ready for church. Next thing I know, I heard the boys freaking out and her screaming. She was twirling. And twirling. And got herself so dizzy that she fell, and slammed into the bottom wooden step of the stairway. She was covered in blood and I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. I sat her on the kitchen counter and checked her teeth, fine. Her tongue, fine. Her lips, fine. What in the world? HER CHIN. Underneath her chin, which is where she must've slammed into that step, was wide open, you could see EVERYTHING. UGH!!! My precious baby girl needed to get to a hospital and fast. She ended up with Frankenstein stitches.

I've taken her to the park and watched in horror as my little female child in her cute dresses and Mary Jane shoes climbs to the highest peak of the monkey bars and slides down the center pole while screaming "I'm a fireman and I'm gonna save you all!" She's come into the house with fists full of rocks and dirt and bugs and wants to keep them as pets. She rolls around the floor and rips her tights and no matter how pretty her hairdo is in the morning, 9 times out of ten, she comes home in the afternoon with crooked pony tails and stains on her shirt. She is loving life, this little girl. Loving life and eating it alive.

Most recently I've witnessed her sliding backwards down the wooden banister of the stairway instead of taking the stairs. Which places her above a hard wood floor, God forbid she falls, I'm sure I'll have a heart attack. Truthfully, I was not this type of girl as a child so I have a very hard time relating to any of it! I know, I need to be thankful that she can already kick her brothers' butts, because at least when I let her date at 40, I won't have to worry about the men in her life taking advantage, in fact come to think of it, I'll probably have to meet them at the door and make them sign a release form to protect us from liability.

And so we come to last night, after an hour of running around with her middle brother, both yelling and laughing at the top of their lungs while I had company (of course)....and after being told to find something QUIET to do, Mommy needs a rest from the noise, I no longer turned my back and sat in a chair, and she was screaming in pain. Little Princess was twirling. Again. Round and round (well Mom, it is a quiet activity)...and she TWISTED HER ANKLE. She was in pain, and I was that half and half mother. Half feeling broken for my baby that she was hurting, and half wanting to kill her for not sitting still for five stinking minutes!! She ended up on the sofa with an ice pack and the remote control. And guess who talked herself into skipping school today? Little sore ankle. She wasn't home an hour into the morning, she was skipping around the family room with the dog. I said, "Wow, Jillian, your ankle is all better, why don't you go to school?" She flopped back onto the couch in true Princess form, you could almost anticipate the back-of-hand-to-forehead-in-woe-is-me fashion as she said, "Oh, no, mom, I'm very sore and exhausted from such little sleep. My ankle kept me up all night. I need my rest."

Oh my dear daughter. Your future husband is in trouble some day! **sigh**