We don't have lots of princesses. Our collection of baby dolls and things pink and girly is growing, albeit slowly. She plays with the same stuff he does. Bubbles and cars and chalk and puzzles and books. Cause he's her favorite. So she wants to do what he does. So I don't have one kid on one end of the house playing monster trucks and one putting a baby in a crib. Yet. I don't feel the huge boy/ girl divide. Yet.
But yesterday. I saw it manifest itself in a different way. It had nothing to do with cars or dolls. Pink or blue.
I picked her up out of her crib from her nap and she asked for the shoes in her closet. (Side note: Not her shoes. Her brothers shoes. Specifically orange crocs that she walks around in constantly. Not just the orange ones. Blue. Green. Doesn't matter. She wants to wear his shoes and only his shoes.) I said no. She smacked me. Not that unusual. She's figuring out that when she doesn't like something she can express that dislike through a simple smack. So, I smacked her back. Kidding. I took her hand and firmly said, 'no hitting.'. Period. No exclamation point. I did not scream it. I did not give her a nasty look. I just said no.
But I think she must have heard: listenlittlegirlifyousomuchaseventhinkabouthittingmeagainyouwillbeswimmingwiththefishies.
She immediately starts bawling. Real tears. Sobbing. The kind of crying you think might make them vomit. I hurt her feelings. I had to sit down and cuddle her (twist my arm) to get her to calm down.
Cannon would have barely reacted to that kind of discipline. And so for the first time, aside from anatomically, I see the difference in my kids.
Here's the thing baby girl. I get it. I don't like being told 'no' either. I'm certain it's made me cry way later in life than it ever should. A word of warning. You will also cry when you get your name written on the board in elementary school. When you get your first 'B' (this one you'll get over by high school). When one of us is disappointed in you. When you feel fat. The list goes on. I get why someone you care about disciplining you hurts your heart and makes you feel sad. I get it. Cause I'm the same way. And I would rather you care too much, than not care at all.
Because maybe, just maybe if you care too much, you won't come home sporting a tramp stamp, with a motorcycle riding boyfriend (who doesn't wear a helmet), and tell us you're dropping out of college to move to Vegas and be a showgirl. Just maybe.
Love her. Her passion. Her giant personality (rivaled only by that of her brother). And her tears.