My daughter used to be five years old and play with Barbie Dolls. I know this for certain because I remember the birthday, and I remember telling her, "No! Barbie likes Ken, not G.I. Joe."
"But Daddy, Barbie and G.I. Joe are in a relationship."
"Excuse me? G.I. Joe does not DO relationships. He kills people."
But she's not five anymore. She's going on 13 and I don't know when it happened. I must have been asleep for the last eight years. She had pony posters on her wall when I closed my eyes, and now that I'm awake, her walls are covered with vampires.
She says she's growing up. Well, I want a second opinion, and then I want a cure.
This whole "growing up" thing hit me hard the other day. She usually runs around in shorts and flip flops, but on that day, she came out modeling a dress. My first reaction was:
"Holy cow! She's got boobs. And cleavage. Where did THAT come from? Certainly not from MY side of the family. Please, somebody shoot me now. I'm not ready for this."
Like I said, that was my FIRST reaction. My second reaction was:
"Holy cow! She's got boobs and stuff. And now I can't ogle babes in bikinis because I'll remember that THEY have fathers, and those fathers are somewhere thinking, 'Holy cow! She's got boobs! Lock her up until she's 40!'"
My little girl can NOT be growing up.
Oh, please God! Make it stop!