"...and you can be my cowgirl"

When I was little, my mom signed me up for ballet lessons. It was in order to strengthen my left leg, plus I was interested in ballet and not interested in sports. I remember going to the ballet supply store on the ground floor of a ballet studio...seeing would-be ballerinas running around in their leotards and tights. My mom bought me the shoes (which I still have). The first day of lessons, she showed me my leotard. It was a hand-me-down from someone, and I think it was for gymnastics. It was two-tone green--lime and forest--and had a zipper. Also, there were no tights. But I knew better than to say anything because the money was there for the appropriate shoes and the lessons, and that was it. A perfectly serviceable leotard was there for me to wear, too.

So, I did, every week. No one ever said anything to me either, even though I was the only one not in a black leotard (with no zipper) and pink tights. But you know what? It was completely fine. Sure, I felt a little out of place and self-concious. But there was no permanent damage.

Today at Lucy's school, it was cowboy/cowgirl day. Now, I've lived in northern Illinois my whole life. And I only rarely listen to country music. So, the whole western look is kind of baffling to me. There's really not a lot of call for cowboy boots (are they called "ropers"?) and hats. So, here was my solution to dress-up day. Lucy wore her jeans and a white shirt. I bought a red bandana and tied it around her neck. She wore white gym shoes. She was so thrilled with herself. She kept running and looking in the mirror and saying, "I look like a real cowgirl, don't I, Mom? What's a cowgirl? Why do they wear these bandanas?"

Then when I got her to school....oh my. These kids were fully kitted out. Boots and hats and chaps and leather dusters and vests...you name it. Immediately I was transported back to the ballet studio, circa 1978. And there was my Lucy, waiting expectantly in her carseat, wearing a $.94 bandana from Wal-Mart.

It's walking a fine line, being a mom. I have to nurture that little coccoon and keep it warm and dry and safe from bad weather and predators. But I can't smother it, and I can't force it to come out, and I can't decide exactly what the butterfly will look like when it appears.

I think it'll be just fine. No permanent damage. Maybe even no damage at all--she didn't seem to realize there was any difference between her and anyone else.

But I still feel just a little bit self-conscious.