Prior to our 16 week sonogram, when we received the news that not only was our Little One (LO) a boy, but he also seemed to be something of an exhibitionist (he was sitting cross-legged so that certain parts were just waving in the amniotic fluid, waiting patiently for their pictures to be taken), I was absolutely certain that we were having a girl. That certitude did not stem from any kind of misplaced mother's intuition (although I was pretty sure that Murphy's Law stated that since my husband J and I could agree on a boy's name that we were certain to have a girl). No, I was sure that I would have a daughter because I very badly needed an excuse for my slight obsession with all things Disney Princess.
Intellectually, I have a problem with the fact that the Disney Corporation™®© Limited, All Rights Reserved (Copyright violation will be punished by death in The Happiest Place On Earth) has figured out a yet another way to market itself to little girls (ahem) and thereby insinuate itself even further into the transom of the American psyche. But on the other hand, PRETTY!
It's probably just as well that LO turned out to be a boy. (I mean other than the fact that he's the awesomest little boy ever). As a member of the educated 30-something parenting generation who scorns the licensed characterization of childhood, I would probably have run out of fibs for how my daughter managed to get herself Ariel's, Aurora's, Belle's, Cinderella's, Jasmine's and Snow White's dress up clothes, dolls, pajamas, lunch boxes, Halloween costumes and band aids. (And it would have been even harder to explain my matching dresses.) So for now, I need to make do with the only Disney Princess mementos I allow myself: stickers! (Yes, I realize that this does detract from my claim of being an educated 30-something parent).
The thing about the Princess line is that it is still selling the Happily Ever After/anti-feminist/wait around long enough and some man will fix everything bill of goods that I rejected (at least intellectually) long before I hit adulthood. But there's some sort of addictive chemical in the pretty pretty colors that makes you crave the Magic™®© fortnightly. Or, maybe, deep down I would like some part of me to believe that I am a pretty princess with big eyes and that my prince and I will live happily ever after.
In a castle full of Disney Princess dress up clothes. In adult sizes.
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