{ You can climb a tree in a dress, but it’s probably harder. }
Lily has always preferred to wear dresses. I’ve been quite proud of this. As someone whose go-to outfit is a pair of jeans and a Favorite T from the Gap, I’ve happily basked in her reflected glory. When other mothers tell me that their daughters want to know why they can’t wear dresses every day like Lily, I make polite noises but inside I’m pleased to be associated with such a little style icon.
I should have known it wouldn’t last.
This morning I stood in front of Lily’s closet and asked which dress she wanted to wear.
“I don’t want to wear a dress,” she said.
“What?!” I gasped, looking at the row of darling new dresses I got on sale at Lands End. “What do you want to wear?”
“Jeans,” she said. “And a shirt.”
A better person than I wouldn’t have grumbled about buying new dresses for no reason. A truly supportive mother would have cheerfully let her daughter wear what she wanted and encouraged her to just be herself. But there’s the rub: is Lily being herself or is she being like all the other kids? Or worse—is she being like me?