I have a little ballerina girl here at home, complete with tutu and shoes. She looks real cute, I have to say.
I even managed to get her to wear underwear under the tutu, just to make things more appropriate.
But to Melina, being appropriate goes beyond the underwear. At least the sort that you wear on your bum.
Being completely appropriately dressed means that underneath that frilly pink leotard with the light pink flower, lies a bra. My dingy, gray, nursing bra that (clearly) I no longer need and should be put to rest in the garbage pail. The straps are pulled as close to her as they can be, and the contraption is still falling off of her little body. Thank goodness the leotard is tight. It pulls the bra up against her flat chest and smooths everything over.
We'll look back at this one day and smile. A really big smile.
I even managed to get her to wear underwear under the tutu, just to make things more appropriate.
But to Melina, being appropriate goes beyond the underwear. At least the sort that you wear on your bum.
Being completely appropriately dressed means that underneath that frilly pink leotard with the light pink flower, lies a bra. My dingy, gray, nursing bra that (clearly) I no longer need and should be put to rest in the garbage pail. The straps are pulled as close to her as they can be, and the contraption is still falling off of her little body. Thank goodness the leotard is tight. It pulls the bra up against her flat chest and smooths everything over.
Me: Melina, you really don't need a bra.
Melina: Yes, I do.
Me: But you don't have breasts.
Melina: Look! [She pulls the leotard down and points.] Yes, I do. You were teasing me!
We'll look back at this one day and smile. A really big smile.
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