Carrie is a precocious child. Smart, quick and easy to be around. She has a bra. Sorry, I didn't mean to not work that into this conversation with more of a segue.
She has had this bra since she was 3 years old. Too young you say? I thought so too and so did her mother when she found that Carrie was allowed to choose it when we were having a day out together two years ago.
That's the same day, while riding in the cart through Walmart, she would watch a young couple advancing toward us and when they got quite close, she would sing out while pointing her finger at the young man, "That's my daddy!"
I would smile at the young lady of this couple and try to convince her that this child of three was just joking. I could see the young lady not convinced and noted the look she was giving her young man. Not only once did Carrie do this, but twice and by that time I was shuffling her to the check out counter with her bra and panties she had selected earlier.
That bra and panties have been collecting dust for the past two years. Yesterday while Carrie was going through her dresser drawers looking for something to wear, she spied the bra. Sailing into the living room swinging it over her head, she is squealing "Nana, look! My bra!"
"Uh huh", I said, "and what are you going to do with it?"
She tears off her shirt and attempts to put it on. It's a front closure and she is puzzled. Directing her to come closer, I showed her how to put it on and snap it mid chest.
This is where we had a little argument. Apparently she thought it was too pretty to cover with a shirt and started for the door in her underwear. Looking at it, I think she could have gotten away with wearing it alone as it looks like a bathing suit top with it's bright colors and pattern.
Fearing that I might be raising a future pole dancer, which is another story, I wanted her to know that underwear was called that because that is where you wore it.."under".
She wore her bra for most of the day and when the novelty wore off, I watched as she stripped it off and flung it across the room and skipped off bra less but with her shirt on.
I've found, as with the daughter and now the granddaughter, if you don't make a big scene about some of the things they want, they soon tire of it as soon as they are allowed to have it. We have a make up day. Carrie layers on as much as she wants on her face; we don't leave the house on makeup day.
And about that pole dancer? One day she shows up, climbs upon the breakfast bar and proceeds to do much swaying of the hips and spinning around while telling me "Look, Nana, I'm a pole dancer!"
I halted the breakfast making and spun to look at her and as soon as I could speak, I asked her how she knew so much about pole dancing. Lest her mom think she had learned something about pole dancing at my house, I made a mental note to alert her mom later.
She mumbled something about "Family Guy" and though she is not allowed to watch that show at her house, I , not being aware that it was an adult cartoon show had allowed her to watch it here until one day I heard some language that drew me to sit down and watch what she was watching.
We don't watch Family Guy at my house now either but being in a playful mood that day, I told her "Ok, it's my turn." She quickly sat down on the breakfast bar and I did some hip shaking and twirling and as I was making quite the fool of myself and grateful we were alone, I started unbuttoning my shirt. I stripped it off and while gyrating around the kitchen, I threw it throuh the air and continued to spin.
Poor Carrie. She watched with eyes huge and mouth hanging open. This was a fun Nana. I could tell she was terribly impressed by my show and I'm sure she was thinking about working this into her pole dancing routine. I may not tell her mom about this part of the pole dancing story. Carrie and I might have our dancing shoes confiscated. What's a little pole dancing between generations? I say, a family that pole dances together, stays together!
I'm just happy the things she wants to experience are makeup and underwear ..and a little pole dancing. I'm holding my breath that she doesn't ask for a cigarette or a bottle of wine.