My three year old daughter is currently obsessed with all things ‘princess’. She pirouettes round the house from dawn to dusk in her Disney Princess dress and synthetic hair extension which she got from Grandpa for Christmas.
Tonight as I was trying and failing to extract the dress from her so she could have a bath, she asked me if I wanted to be a princess too. ‘Maybe you could wear my dress Mummy?’.
It suddenly struck me that I have my own ‘princess’ dress. The one that’s been hanging on the back of the spare room door in a suit bag for almost six years.
‘Do you want to see Mummy’s special dress?’, her eyes widened as I unzipped the bright white bag. And there before us was my beautiful wedding dress. Smelling rather fusty but generally not looking too bad. The once beautiful lace scalloped edge now tattered and dirty – the sign of one hell of a good party. A dress that symbolises so much – love, hope, promises, dreams, family…. A dress that gave me a little shiver as I gazed on it again after so long.
‘Wow Mum’, ‘Were you really a princess once?’ Well yes I guess I was once – for a day. I’ve promised her I’ll try and squeeze into it tomorrow and play princesses together. Maybe I’ll pirouette round the kitchen in it too.
Postcards From My Kitchen Table 