Yesterday, quite out of character, I adorned my toenails with Aphrodite's Nightie (pink to you and me but I couldn't resist the name), the first time since my nuptials four years ago. It was an impromptu decision. I thought there was a chance it would help make my feet look a little more feminine in their Birkenstocks. I've since come to the conclusion however that this is as perfect an example of an oxymoron as "friendly fire." Finje, quite captivated by my shiny new digits immediately demanded the same. Therein lies my dilemma.
You see, a "Yummy Mummy" I am not. Nor am I an Earth Mother (despite the Birkenstocks). I like to think I'm nestling somewhere contentedly between the two. Actually, I fit in rather well in a place where fashion is generally modest, functional and pragmatic and where a number of Germans don't seem to have updated their wardrobes since the Thatcher years. Don't get me wrong, many parts of the country are certainly chic and contemporary, but importantly the current fascination with all things grown up does not yet seem to have dug its formidable claws into German children. No G-strings for little girls here.
So, what about the nail polish?
For me it's a fine line between a sense of pride in one's appearance whilst embracing and accepting what nature administered and succumbing to societies demand for the "perfect" being.
All very well, but now onto explaining to a three year old that she is, in my opinion, too young for such adornment (like baby girls in bikinis, it's just not right), whilst at the same time feeling somewhat hypocritical. I tried. She screwed up her little forehead, looked appropriately serious, satisfyingly pensive even, and actually nodded in what I naively took to be compliance. After our little chat off she went seemingly in agreement only to emerge a few minutes later with a huge grin and multi-coloured painted toes having utilised the paint box.
I removed my nail polish the same day. Well, my feet looked like they belonged to someone else and painted nails and Birkenstocks were never to be a match made in heaven. Finje with obvious disappointment and knitted brow said, "Oh, now you look like mama again".
I decided to take it as a compliment.
Am I being too "Earth Mother?"
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