Keepin' Up

Amidst my worry that she was simply a 'late-bloomer', for two years I have also been very proud of The Princess. While, at the tender Kindergarten stage, some of the other girls were already comparing the labels on their jeans and the branding splashed across their tiny, pink tennis shoes she remained with the utmost grace and ease, neutral. In First Grade when I cringed at the conversations overheard in her classroom about which girls' parents had the most money, she was content to know only that we had enough for the healthy snacks in her belly and the comfortable - and yes, sometimes beloved - clothes on her back.   

Still, even through the overwhelming pride, I held few misconceptions. Appalled at how early in life this all had set in among her peers I chose - as much as is possible for such a vocal mother - to remain silent. I knew my day would come. They all go through it, after all. Don't they? No matter how independent, no matter how strong, no matter how resistant to peer pressure, they all go through it. They all must keep up, surpass even, their own little Jones' at some point. However moderately, temporarily, mildly it would happen, I knew simply that it would. And sure enough, it has. 

She hasn't taken to comparing labels, thank heavens. Though her favorite store has always been and remains to be the Gap, so really how much consolation can there be in thirty dollar jeans too small to fit over one of my calves? 

She hasn't even asked about money. Perhaps, she is simply sorely misguided. After all, for the way she picks out "real live ponies" for me to buy for her like she's picking out one-cent tootsie rolls at the grocery store it's become obvious she thinks we're sleeping on mattresses filled with sweet, green stacks of love. 

We're not. In case you were planning on breaking in and stealing said love. We're most assuredly not. 

No, even now The Princess hasn't really succumbed all that much to the peer pressure to keep up, materially speaking, at all. I probably shouldn't be complaining, but sweet mother of comparisons the child is driving me crazy. She may not - save the "real live ponies" - be asking for material possessions galore to be bought for her, but did you know that all of the material possessions she does have are infinitely better than all other material possessions currently possessed by anyone else? 

I know, it was news to me too. 

Her pillows? Softer. 

Her cereal? Tastier. 

Her bowl? Makes a better clinkity-clink noise when her spoon touches it. 

Her shirt? warmer. 

Her shoes? Faster. 

Her jeans? Cuter. 

Her pencils? Yellower. (Bonus: They also write better. And need to be sharpened less often.) 

And the list goes on. and. on. 

As a matter of fact, as I type this both The Princess and The Pea are a couple of rooms over brushing their teeth. The Princess has just informed The Pea, against all logic, that her toothpaste is clearly better. It will better clean her teeth, brighten her smile and ensure collegiate success and the landing of a high-profile, astronomically-paid career in which she won't actually have to work. You know, that toothpaste THAT SHE GOT OUT OF THE SAME DAMNED TUBE AS HER SISTER! It's just that much better. 

Because she touched it. 

Now, I'm off. You know, to have her turn my water into wine, and other such small, meaningless tasks for such a prodigy of a child.

Come to think of it, if I didn't so clearly remember the ripping apart of my loins at birth I'd say she was probably delivered by the gods themselves.