But that would be her story, though, not mine. She started out as a normal little girl, loving dolls, stuffed animals and all things pink. She had a short bout with colic as a baby, but by the time she was two, it was obvious that she was all girl. Which was a great relief to me, by the way.
When my wife was pregnant with our daughter, I had two main fears. One was that when she was born she would look like me, or worse, look like me in drag! When she was born, she did look like me, but my fears were unfounded. If she looks like I would look in drag, I'd look pretty good (minus the beard, of course).
My second greatest fear while my wife was pregnant with child number two was passing along my temperament. I am a less than jovial person on average. My Grandpa Zimmy was much the same way, a rather gruff old poop most of the time. After his funeral, Grandma Zimmy asked me if I thought he had been a good Grandpa. She had forgotten all the times he had chased us around when we were just little kids, trying to pinch us with his thick, workingman fingers. I guess he just enjoyed hearing us squeal. He could be very caring and soft, but that side was usually hidden away from public view. When he laughed, he laughed wholeheartedly. But usually he was just a gruff old poop. I told her he had been a terrific Grandpa.
On the drive home from his funeral, my wife began having contractions. This was early January, and our daughter was not due until March 17thApparently she felt left out over not getting to see her great-grandpa before he died, or maybe she felt the need to fill the Zimmerli-shaped void Grandpa had just created. Luckily, modern medical science, pharmacology and bed rest prevailed and she was denied early admittance. We should have been paying attention, because that was perhaps the first glimpse of her independent nature. The next came when she was due to be born. After trying to join us six-weeks early, she decided she wasn't coming out without a special invitation. When she was two weeks overdue, the doctor induced my wife and convinced our daughter to come out to play. My mother-in-law took one look at her first granddaughter, our new little bundle of joy, and said, “This is the one. This is the one who will pay you back.” Nice.
When our daughter first became mobile, I remember her crawling over to where her older brother was quietly watching television. “How cute,” I thought. “She's going to lie on the floor next to her brother and watch cartoons.” Not this child. She crawled over to his head, grabbed a handful of hair on either side and pulled upward. He howled in pain, but could do nothing about this sudden new threat to his safety. He had spent four years as master of his own domain, and suddenly there was this “thing” that crawled around the floor and ate lint and cat food, and it was attacking him. She had yanked on his hair just to hear him squeal. I immediately had flashbacks to Grandpa Zimmy, chasing us around the house, trying to pinch us, just to hear us squeal.
The knowledge that boys can't hit girls was very frustrating for her brother, as well as one of the things she exploited. This was brought home early one Saturday morning when she was about three. I had to be at work by six o'clock each morning, and played in a band on weekends. Sleeping in on Saturday morning was pretty special to me. On this particular Saturday morning I was roused from a deep slumber by the indignant cries of my daughter downstairs. I went to the top of the stairs and hollered down for an immediate cessation and explanation. She came to the bottom of the stairs in her pink bathrobe, her long, blonde hair framing her head like a halo, and, like a princess who has just been treated rudely by a vassal, announced, "He hit me back!"
I do believe she fancies herself a princess. Perhaps the King had to send her away for safekeeping from an evil stepmother and had his trusted servants (that would be us) raise her until he could safely bring her back home. I know someday in the not-too-distant future Prince Charming will come along and take her away. As the new Mr. and Mrs. Prince Charming depart for a long and happy life together, we’ll shed a tear or three. Then, when the happy couple is out of sight, we'll do a happy dance head and over to the King's castle to collect our bonus for raising the Princess!
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