My 3-year-old daughter is convinced she's royalty. I'm not sure that "princess" would be her choice though -- she'd probably prefer to be known as "king," which only means that she's my daughter. Why be a lowly princess when you can rule the world?
*happy maternal sigh*
The thing I'm not into, though, is all these kids' activities. When I was a kid, my "activities" included my own mother booting me outside, the click of the lock behind me my only cue that it was time to make my own fun. So I did.
But now? Every parent I know is all, "dance class this" and "soccer practice that." And you know what? I hate it.
Each wee outfit for dance class costs eleventy-basquillion dollars. Which is more than my mortgage payment. Don't they know that's Mommy's Vodka Money? Apparently not.
I didn't sign up for fetus dance class, which means that I haven't been trucking my daughter to and from the studio since she was negative 6 months old. Therefore, my kid and I are the misfits -- we don't know a soul.
I'm stuck sitting on the bleachers, watching my kid learn dance moves and I don't even have wi-fi. How can I possibly keep tabs on my favorite toilet paper's Twitter stream if I have to sit and pretend like I'm paying attention?
Their dance moves all look the same. They're all, "twirl, step, twirl." It's adorable and all, but I'm pretty sure I could get the same effect by dangling something sparkly in front of my daughter.
No matter what I'm wearing, I'm under-dressed. I could show up in a full ball gown and someone next to me will have the ball gown PLUS the tiara. If I show up in a ball gown plus tiara, the person next to me will be wearing a DIAMOND tiara, whereas mine is a lowly cubic zirconium tiara.
Watching the kids trip over each other while "dancing" is like the world's most hilarious reality television show. I keep hoping Ryan Seacrest is gonna show up to announce the next act.
Ah, parenthood. Pass the vodka, yo.