Friday, August 7, 2009

What Little Girls Are Made Of

I’ve always talked about Gracie’s obsession with shoes. I really do think it is a predetermined genetic trait, that matches perfectly with her shade of Matt’s blonde hair and my Irish nose. There was no way to avoid this love, so why not encourage it. That way it is win-win, because everyone who knows me knows my love of shoe shopping.

In the last few months, her love has expanded from her own Pedipeds and pink sparkles (that she refused to wear at Easter but now loves) to my shoes. Particularly these shoes.

She has dozens of other pairs to choose from. She mixes and matches them all with her jewels. I own ballet flats in every shade of the rainbow. Metallic kitten heels. Black peep toe 4 inch slings with butter soft leather. She likes the rough textured canvas and rope wedges though. She shuffles around our second floor with them constantly. She insists I wear them while brushing my teeth. They are located in a different place in our room everyday.

I’ve also been having issues getting Gracie to wake up in the mornings. While her bucking our 6am departure for work/daycare has provided the wonderful side effect of her sleeping in until 7am on the weekends, it has made weekday mornings all the more challenging. She has been expanding her vocabulary greatly though in relation to the morning protests. She now speaks in relatively full sentences to portray her displeasure, "No Mama. Not nice. Still sleeping!" while she tries to smack my hands away.

This past week I’ve started opening her door to let hallway light shine in and turning off her humidifier (aka the background noise) before going downstairs to pack our lunch bags. Usually by the time I come back upstairs she is awake and waiting for me, or at least puts up a lot less fight when I try to pull her away from the beloved pillow.

This morning, she still had her face buried in the pillow when I went back upstairs. I was steeling myself for the kicks and whines when her eyes peeked open through the crib slats and she sat up like a bolt. "Mama. Mama! Soos! Sooooooooossssss!! Pity. Pity soos!" (Translation: ‘Pretty shoes.)

Then I looked down at my feet. I am wearing her wedges and she couldn’t be happier.

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