Fiona’s best pal just pierced her ears. She looks darling, and now Fiona, never one to miss a beat, is demanding the same. I’ve never had the ear-piercing discussion with Francie because a) to pierce her ears she’d have to leave the house, and 2) pierced ears = change, and for Francie change = terrifying. I know that if she did want to do it, she’d make me take the earrings out seconds later, before we even leave the store.
Fiona, on the other hand, is gung ho.
But even though I’d never really thought about it, it turns out that I have somewhat strong feelings on the subject. I’d never pierced the babies ears because, ethnicity aside (sadly, we have no Latin blood), I always thought that the only baby girls with pierced ears were:
a) ugly,
b) bald, or
c) looked like boys
…. and in all cases their poor, disappointed mothers were desperate to try anything to beautify. [Those same babies also had to sport those ridiculous elasticated headbands that made their already large heads look like overripe melons. Poor wee things.]
I suppose I always thought ear-piercing was something that came along with adolescence… a rare happy moment in what will likely be a sea of emotional hell.  But a three year old? I’ve been called prudish and old-fashioned by the best of them, but I know what I’m afraid of. It all smacks of Jeanbenet Ramsey. Earrings today, Toddlers and Tiaras tomorrow. I don’t know why, but I seem to think that small gold studs are the first step on the path to pole dancing and pasties.
I’ve told her I’d think it over. I suppose at some point I should consult M. But as strong willed as Fiona I may be, I think I may be able to distract her for a few years. After all, kids have no real sense of time anyway. Still, I’m not sure I need to make sure a big deal out of this. As I was saying to a friend today, given her strong Lisbeth Salander streak (you never saw a better “piss-off” face on a three year old), we’ll be damn lucky if this is all she pierces.