This is why I don’t think The Duchess of Cambridge and I will be getting together for play dates anytime soon:
1. The Baby Prince wears couture. And not just any couture; for his christening, he wore a gown (that I’m pretty sure didn’t have ANY spit-up on it) designed by The Queen’s favorite designer. As in, the beloved designer of HER MAJESTY, THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND.
My baby wears her sisters’ hand-me-downs, the nicest of which are designed by the not-exactly-distinguished House of Carter. Common people refer to it as Carter’s, and even commoner people call it “Just one You – by Carter’s” because that’s the brand they sell at Target. Also, my baby doesn’t have any gowns. Not a one. If she did, it would most definitely have spit-up on it.
2. The Baby Prince will one day inherit the throne of the United Kingdom.
If she’s lucky, my baby will inherit my naturally soft skin but not the varicose veins I inherited from my own mother. If she plays her cards right, she may inherit my wedding rings, but she’s the youngest of three, so it’s not looking too good.
3. As a christening gift, The Baby Prince received, from the people of Romania (and I swear to god I’m not making this up) a wildflower meadow in Transylvania. I’ll give you a second to let that sink in.
As a shower gift, my baby received, from the people of my extended family, a “basket” made out of an old mushroom container with hot glue strings dangling all over it like plasticky tentacles. I guess you could call it “up-cycled.”
4. For parents, The Baby Prince has a father who, as he waits to become THE KING OF ENGLAND, flies rescue helicopters for the British military. And he has a mother who probably smells like fresh air and kindness, with her soft shiny hair, a perfectly photogenic smile, and legs that won’t quit. (Seriously – she has amazing legs.)
My baby just has my husband and me – your typical middle class regular people who work our asses off and look forward to watching Homeland as the highlight of our week. Also instead of fresh air and kindness, I smell like baby pee and yesterday’s socks. And my legs? No. Varicose veins, remember?
5. The Baby Prince lives in some kind of palace/estate/castle that I imagine is filled with crystal and hushed voices.
My baby lives in a regular house filled with plastic and poopy diapers.
It is chaotic and stressful and messy and loud, but it is also warm and safe and loving and fun.
So she may not be a princess, but I think she has it pretty good. Her mom, though, for the record, would LOVE to have just ONE fabulous little hat (a fascinator, if you want to get fancy) like those of Kate Middleton. Just one. And I’d proudly wear it with yesterday’s socks.