Get a grip. I know she flipping looks like Shirley Temple.
I know she’s cute and super friendly. I know she has amazing hair. Even if I didn’t have eyes, I have working ears and people have told me. A lot of people. I swear at least five people commented on her hair at Winco’s today. Five.
Can’t you people find something better to focus on? For crying-out-loud, she was reading the aisle numbers, counting the veges as we put them into the bags, and did a lovely rendition of “Mary had a little duck” at full volume. She introduced each of you to her bunny. She even told one of you that bunny likes carrots.
She is amazing. She would be amazing even if she were bald! Jumping Jacks and Jam!
No. I don’t do it to her. (Who the F- would try to curl a two-year-olds hair???) Yes, it is natural. No, I’m not going to be entering her into pageants.
Also, Little-Old-Lady, when you ask if I did that to her hair, and I answer that, no, it’s just genetics. Don’t contradict me and say that god curled her hair. I really doubt that god reached into my uterus with his magic curling iron and carefully teased her pretty little golden locks into place. Even if you believe in that, in this particular case accept that it involved genetics. No Magic Divine Hairdresser. Genetics!
People, kids are cute. They’re also people! If you keep telling my girl that she’s cute, if you keep obsessing over how cute she is, you’re going to make my job harder. It’s hard enough to keep a girl from becoming body obsessed in this stupid, freaking image obsessed world, so please don’t make this harder. She listens when you tell me that her hair is “so cute”!
It’s gotten pretty bad. Lately, she’s started going up to people and introducing herself with the phrase, “Hi! I Fiona. I have cute hair.” I’m trying to teach her to say how old she is, or that she knows her abc’s, or any other normal thing.
So, please, until I can explain the concept of modesty, could we please lay off about the hair? Please?
Okay. I’m done ranting now.