March Exclusive - "Choosing" - Part 3

Don’t push her, the counselor said. Don’t force her. Just let it happen. You are the guide.

I see the look on Emma’s face. Her I-call-bullshitexpression.

I smile. “You don’t have to,” I say. “It’s just an idea.” I shrug. “If you want, we can wait for my mommy to come back and she can make us breakfast.”

And this is true. Emma’s going to end up in the dress either way, with my help or my mothers. So I can be cool about this, I can be chill. But really, I want to be the one. I want to be the mommy. Because that’s my job. That’s my choice.

“I don’t wanna wait for your mommy…mom,” says Emma. She sticks out her bottom lip. And I can see it in her eyes; she’s thinking like a very young child. I have presented her with a choice, two options, and she can’t see beyond them.

She looks down at the adult-sized, toddler-styled dress, strokes the material with curious fingers, and she’s discovering just how soft the material is. Soft like her silly, malleable brain.

Because this is easy.

And then she blinks.

The next words out of her mouth make me want to laugh out loud.

She thrusts the dress at me. “Why don’t you wear it? Why don’t you be the special girl?”

I nod. I’m proud of her in this moment. She’s still fighting. Still resisting.

But she can’t win.

I get to win. I made the choice. And Mommy knows what’s best.

I nod slowly, as if considering the idea. “I guess I could….” I look down at the dress with its delicate smocking and ruffled neckline. “It sure is pretty,” I say softly. But I don’t take it back. I wait for her to give to me. I wait for Emma to insist.

She doesn’t.

Because the plan - a game of pretend, basically – is absurd. Before today, Emma would never have bought it.

But today is a very different kind of day. I can see it in her eyes; she wants to believe it. She wants to wear it. And that’s why I picked out the most babyish outfit from the closet. And that’s why it just takes the gentlest of nudges to help Emma on her sweet, innocent path to acceptance.

“I think it’s more your size,” I say, tapping my chin. “And…” I stretch out the word with a regretful tone. “…I think it’ll look cuter on you.” I shrug. “Don’t you?”

Emma goes to the full-length mirror and holds up the dress. I see her bite her lip nervously, and then almost seductively, as she turns around and smiles at me. As if she’s the one getting away with something.

“If you think so,” she says, her tone baby-soft.

I nod. Decision made. “But you have to let me help you get changed,” I say. “I’m in charge right now, and besides, it can be part of the pretend, okay?”

Emma grins, nodding with clear relief. It must feel good to let go of the final strands of responsibility.

And I keep on testing her. First, by helping her remove her nightdress, and then helping her into her new dress, her special girl dress, without any mention of a bra or panties.

Will she resist? Will she even remember? No, her eyes are locked on her reflection; the beginnings of a vain, cloudy-headed toddler.

She doesn’t resist when I sit her on the bed and pull a pair of pink knee socks up her legs. Each sock has a decorative bow at the top, and I understand now that I’m dressing her more like an infant than a toddler.

But she doesn’t seem to mind, kicking her legs idly.

“Good girl,” I say sweetly. Because it’s a game of pretend which will be real before she knows it.

“Thank you Mommy,” replies Emma coquettishly, and she giggles. Because it’s just a game. Because she trusts me completely.

The final, perfect piece of her outfit is the pink satin bow hair band. And I tell her how lucky it is, that I found one. And that she can grow her hair long, like the other special girls, and she can have pigtails and ribbons and won’t that be so cute?

She nods, touching the hair band with clumsy fingers. And does she still remember the game?

I add a pair of shiny mary janes to her feet, and then I look her up and down. “There!” I say grandly, delightedly. “Perfect.” And I kiss her on the cheek, because I’m allowed. Because she’s just a special girl, and I’m her mommy.

Sure enough, she just giggles. She gazes at her reflection. “All pretty,” she says, and I marvel at how her diction has deteriorated. Aw priddy!

“So, we’re going out now, right?”

Emma nods.

I smile. “To go to the lake. To feed the duckies.”

Emma bursts into chortles. “No-oh! Cassie, we’re escaping!” Cathee, we thapin’!

“Oh. Oh, right.”

Emma points a playful finger. “You silly.”

“Sorry. Sorry. I’ll be better. And besides, it’s obvious.”

“Huh?”

“If we were going to see the duckies, you’d be wearing your yellow dress.” I point towards the closet. “But you’re not wearing your yellow dress, are you.”

Emma shakes her head. “Pink!”

“Good girl.” And then I gasp. “Oh! We almost forgot!”

Emma stares at me, waiting for news.

It’s my turn to giggle. “We forgot your panties!”

I go back to the closet, and I can see this as our final test. Will she let me put on her underwear, as if she’s just a helpless toddler?

She does frown when she sees how thick the panties are –which is fair, they’re really more like training pants. But when I run my finger along the pink frills, and when I point at the princess on the front, I can something change in her expression. A softening. An easy acceptance.

And now, she’s all dressed up. She’s perfect. And she doesn’t question, doesn’t seem to wonder where my own oufit, a conservative, grown-up dress, comes from. Because I’m the mommy now. Because of course I don’t wear sweet and silly pink dresses. I’m not a special girl.

We’re walking downstairs when Emma remembers her stomach.

“Hungry,” she declares. Hun-wee.

But I’m ready for that. “We’re going out for breakfast,” I reply.

“Where?” Her face is an open book. And I wonder, if I told her we were going to have breakfast with Snow White, would she believe me?

“You’ll see,” I say, grinning.

It’s a short walk to Main Street. A perfect, blue-skied day in Blowing Rock. And just like the counselor promised, I can time it just right.

We come across a group of special girls and their carers, and we join the line, we fit right in. A row of us walking along Main Street, and it’s not long before we get to Dilwin’s.

Emma’s eyes light up, just like the other special girls. Because if there’s one thing they love to eat most in the world, it’s ice-cream.

There’s no inside seating but plenty of benches on sidewalk in front. I let Emma choose – why not let her make one, sweet choice – between a sugar cone or a fudge slice.

She chooses the cone, and I laugh when she asks for vanilla. Because isn’t she just perfectly vanilla now? Isn’t she just perfect sweet and simple?

She eats her ice cream with the other special girls, she makes quick and easy friends. And I watch her make a mess, sticky fingers, messy mouth, and I can’t wait to clean her up.

Two older women see us, they smile and nod. Because isn’t Emma pretty as a picture, and aren’t I a good mommy. They approve, and when have I ever felt this proud?

I will look after my little girl. I will make sure Emma has her bath tonight, and her supper, and her bedtime story. And before all that, I will make sure that if she can’t keep her thick panties dry, that I will put her in a fresh diaper.

When have I ever felt as though I’m in the right place? The perfect place?

Emma finishes her ice-cream, and I wipe her hands and face. I tell her what a good girl she is, and she rewards me with a hug.

It warms my heart. It fixes it. And just like the counselor explained, Emma and I are both exactly where we belong. 

THE END

Cassie doesn't want to be her best friend's Mommy, but in Blowing Rock she'll either change diapers or wear them - Elfie