Une Envie de Sel

I'm feeling a bit guilty tonight, as I often do when I realize the way Q's blog portrays her, at least to the untrained eye. Because she can't write yet, Q is unable to speak for herself, and there is only me to speak for her. Because I'm a stay-at-home mother, because I also work from a home office, because she is not yet in school and we do not use daycare, I usually speak of her life mostly in pictures.  I rarely have time for words. And here's the thing: the pictures tell a bit of a different story. Q is an unusual child. She is not your typical three-year-old girl. For one thing, she looks much older than she is. For another, she is, at least physically, a natural clotheshorse. She looks fabulous in any style, any color. She has a natural grace of limb and motion. So whatever she wears, she looks like a fashion spread.

 

 

 

 

It's difficult for me to portray her honestly, because she looks the way she looks - because the camera loves her. But the fact is that the clothes have nothing to do with the reality of Q. 

I myself love clothes. If anyone is guilty of the sartorial extravagance of this blog, it's me. I'm very aesthetic and very visual, and because Q receives so many beautiful gifts from so many wonderful people around the world, I am able to dress her in beautiful things. 

But this is not the essence of Q. It is perhaps even contradictory to the essence of Q. 

Q is a child of action, a child of motion and adventure. She likes to run and to climb and dive, to play baseball and basketball, do pushups and jumping jacks, and lift weights (yes, real weights) before bed. At three and a half, she would still prefer to go around in nothing but a pair of briefs and some sandals 24/7 (even in winter). She wears clothes only when forced by her mommy and daddy, and on those occasions, resigned to having to be clothed (sigh!), it matters not a whit to her what clothes she is dressed in. The more naked parts, the better (hence her love for something like this bathing costume, which allows her "naked arms" and "naked legs"). 

When her tastes do assert themselves, they are unusual - sometimes even inexplicable. 

She falls in love with the occasional prop or accessory - an umbrella, an oversized bowtie that she wears as a headband, a backpack, a headlamp. But please, gentle readers, don't get the wrong idea. If Q could speak for herself, she would quickly and forcefully correct you (as she often corrects me). 

She would tell you, "I'm not a princess! I'm not pretty. I'm a TinMan! I'm an Octopus. Not a pretty octopus, just a plain Octopus. I am...just Q."