Pity

"And what about The Princess?  Is she totally excited for Santa Claus to come?  What does she want this year?"

...asked everyone I've ever known.  I know it's not meant to affect me the way it does - I know this - but my reaction is not a logical one.

I get all prickly every time I am asked one of these questions, or any of the hundreds of variations on them.  Another favorite: "Does she just love to talk to you on the phone when you're out of town?  I bet she gabs your ear off..." or some other such seemingly harmless smalltalk.

We'll address these one at a time.  Here, my dear readers, are the answers to what seem - at least lately - to be the most commonly asked questions about my sweet little Princess.

No, she is not totally excited for Santa Claus to come.  The fact of the matter is that I don't even know if she has any idea who he is.  Or if she's retained any of the mythology, can she even wrap her little head around the concept?  These are things I may never know, and I am okay with this. 

I have no worldly idea what she wants for Christmas this year.  She does not ask me for things.  She does not flip through toy catalogs like other children her age.  She does not play Internet games or while away the hours with YouTube or Apple apps.  She is perfectly happy playing with the toys she has owned since she was a baby.  There are a few notable exceptions that have been allowed into the club as late entries, but the vast majority of her preferred playthings are plastered with age range labels that have long been left in our dust.  She is happy.  I am happy.  Please do not concern yourself with whatever the "next big thing" may be for little girls of a certain age.  No one in my house knows or cares about them.  Yes, I am asking for practical things for her for Christmas.  No, it is not sad.  End of story.

No, she does not just love to talk to me on the phone when I'm out of town.  She doesn't really seem to understand the concept.  More and more as she gets older, it seems as though she's recognizing the voices that come out of phones, but she has no interest in holding the phone at all.

No, she does not gab my ear off.  She doesn't speak. 

And stop it with the pitying looks when I answer you honestly.  You asked.  I'm not going to lie.  We are content - couldn't be happier, actually - with our lives.  My girl is not an unfortunate victim of some huge, horrible diagnosis.

She is my girl.

And I love her.

If you don't really want to know what's going on with me and my family, do us both a favor by refraining from asking the questions altogether. 

Don't you dare make me feel anything but blessed by what I have.

I wouldn't trade a second of this life for anything.  And if you can't understand that, I should be the one pitying you.