I don't know about you, but this picture terrifies me.Last night while waiting for Tony to come home from church I had the rare opportunity to watch a complete episode of Toddlers & Tiaras, a disturbing look at the life of tiny pageant contestants and their mothers. Last night's show followed a three-year-old baby and her stage-crazed mother, a four-year old toddler and her somewhat less crazy mom, and a 6-year old girl and her seemingly down-to-earth, if not a little batty, mom. After about thirty minutes of watching the preparations for the Southern High Glitz Open State pageant during which mothers took their daughters for modeling and dance lessons, fitted them for false teeth and trotted them into spray tanning booths, Tony arrived home and surprisingly joined me in my open-mouthed gawking at the audacity of parents to mutate their precious gems into little replicas of creepy porcelain dolls.
We watched together in awe as little girl after little girl was paraded across the stage in all their High-Glamour glory. We stared wide-eyed as parents pinned in hair-pieces and outlined their daughters eyes with heavy liquid liner. Stunned, we watched as tiny toddlers were squeezed into even smaller costumes that showed their bellies and their bloomers and were sent to "shake it" across the floor.
It was hard to watch as girl after girl was called for crowing and the little ladies we had become so fond of were winning menial prizes, until that is, we realized that the Supreme Crowns were reserved for those who hadn't already won their division titles (a bizarre crowing ritual that even the parents of the toddlers didn't seem to understand). In the end each of our tiny tots received top honors for their efforts and were awarded 3rd, 2nd and 1st place.
All of this, well, pageantry was literally making my stomach turn, until I heard a passing statement made by one of the judges to the mother of the Grand Supreme Queen. As she leaned over the table to pat the mother on the back she looked her in the eyes and told her "she's just so beautiful, you know what I mean, so naturally beautiful, just wonderful..." And there it was, I turned to Tony and I said, "I get it. I totally understand why mother's do this. It is the most validating thing in the entire world to hear that your child is perfect, because you did it!"
This was an interesting look into my own life and the Psyche as a parent, and I think most of us have it in us. That is why we post pictures of our kids on Facebook and brag to our parents about what Junior did today. That's why there are magazines, blogs and websites devoted to doting on our children. Because in some weird way, when our children succeed, we succeed. When our children are the best we're the best. When our children win Grand Supreme Queen, we win Grand Supreme Queen.
It made me really think about keeping my dreams for Roman at bay. At 8 months I already have so many aspirations for him that I know if he attains will reflect well upon me and Tony. It's hard not to dream a life for your child that will build up your reputation and allow you to live vicariously through them.
Perhaps this is why Roman is not a girl. God knew that a girl would be too much for me. I'd want to rewrite my life all over her. I have dreams for my girls that aren't even born yet, I've had dreams for them since I was 16. And until having my own baby, those dreams included pageants. Pageants and dance classes, gymnastics, acting, salons, and big (I mean BIG) poofy dresses. I have always wanted a girl to pick up where I left off and fulfill my dreams of stardom for me.
Yuck, even writing it down makes me realize how easy it is to fall into the trap of letting your should haves control the rest of your life. Of letting your past rule your future and becoming a haunting ghost of what you wish you would have done, instead of pursuing your dreams for yourself.
After I had expressed my validation for these women Tony turned back to me and said some equally profound words. He held out his hand in exasperation and said, "why? It's all fake!" Truer words had not been spoken. I realized that any aspirations for myself that I foisted upon my own children would be just that, fake. A sad, tin life lived out for the pleasure of a mother, and that is not a good life.
I think I realized that I need to pursue my dreams myself. If Roman wants to play baseball, great, if he'd rather do his math homework really well, that'd probably serve him better in life, although it wouldn't be quite so glamorous. If my future little girls want to take ballet, I'll love it, but if they'd rather go out in the backyard and play in the mud with their brother, that's okay too.
