I just have to accept the fact that I live in a testosterone-laden household. With two boys (and no future plans for another child), I have tried to learn how to embrace Nerf guns, burping, toilet jokes, meat eating dinosaurs, Hot Wheels, and mud on my floor. Nevertheless, when I see images of pink laden cribs, Barbie, princess playhouses, and crystal carriages with white mice I yearn for the little girl I'll never have. I must say that when I was little, I wanted to be a girlie girl. I loved ballet tutus, my tanning Skipper doll, makeup kits, and florescent fushia kitty barrettes. Yet, my mother was never the super feminine type, and my father encouraged the (very) latent tomboy in me, so over the years I learned to somewhat repress my super poofy lace and satin girlie urges. Now, as I approach 42, I find that I need that side of me to find expression once again. I'm determined to find a space somewhere in my home that I can "girlify". Who knows? Maybe I'll drag out my old box of Madame Alexander dolls and install a display around my bedroom....I know my husband would be delighted.
(Photos: Vintage Tiffani Barbie Print, Princess of Monaco Bedding, and Sophie's Magical Windmill Playhouse - all from Posh Tots, Carriage Cake by Jane Asher.)
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