I love my daughter’s imagination. One minute her stuffed toys are getting on an airplane to fly to “Michigan or the grocery store” and the next she’s pretending to be scaling a wall to escape the evil Bowser.
She’ll ask you to play along, in her own way that really doesn’t include the “asking” part.
Now you be the Prince and I will be the Princess and you have to say ‘Princess I am here to save you’ and then I have to say ‘Oh I knew you would come!’
If you flub a line or miss a cue she makes you do it over again. And over again. And over again.
And you do. Because she’s 4 and she’s adorable and she’s twirling and doing that thing with her lips that reminds you she’s part you.
But I keep throwing a new line into playtime that she ignores. Ignores entirely as if it’s never been said, or doesn’t matter at all.
Princesses Save Themselves
She doesn’t even look up to acknowledge me when I say it, nor does she bat an eyelash when I launch into the 10 minute explanation.
Princess don’t need a Prince to save them. They can do it themselves. I know you’re just as smart as that Prince and you can figure out how to get down from this tower. You don’t need him, you don’t need anyone to help because you can do it all by yourself!
She thinks the Prince, or Mario, needs to save her. It’s every game she plays and every story she wildly imagines. Every. Single. Time. It’s how the story MUST go.
A boy must come save her from some large, hairy, evil monster.
Now I want to blame someone for this. Movies. TV. However she’s watched just as many Princesses get saved by their strong man as she has ones who have kung fu’d their captor’s ass.
And she has me, and her father, reinforcing the “you can do it without a boy’s help” constantly.
She doesn’t care.
Now maybe it’s because she has a big brother and she thinks he’s the greatest thing on earth. Greater than Mario and greater than any cartoon that has climbed a castle wall. Maybe it’s all those other Princesses who do sit around waiting for their Prince Charming.
Maybe it’s her mother who still gets a kick out of acting the damsel in distress for some y chromosome attention.
Maybe I need to lighten up about it. I mean, when my son pretends he’s attacking the bad guys with a sword I don’t immediately think he’s going to grow up and slay people. Nor do I feel the need to remind him over and over again that nice people don’t stab.
I’m not sure. But I am going to keep repeating it, just in case. Over and over again. This way, if nothing else, it’s stuck in the way back part of her brain that she will tap into whenever it is we tap into the stuff our parents told us but we didn’t believe…
Princesses Save Themselves.
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