From tom boy to uni student, to backpacker, the word diva has just never existed in my vocabulary.

That was until I gave birth to one.

My life has always been about necessity and practicality. Now, I am discovering why it’s just not easy being a diva.

Since Kalyra could talk she has helped match my shoes to my outfits (actually she did this before she could talk too).

“These shoes go with your pretty white skirt, Mummy,” she would say as she pulled them out from the pile of shoes lying on the bottom of the wardrobe.

I take her with me when it is time for me to buy my clothes as she always hands out the best advice

“Wow. What a beautiful dress Mummy….. No I don’t like that one.”

She’s never far off the mark.

As much as I love my own wardrobe stylist, shopping with her can be a nightmare. She rarely runs off and hides among the clothes driving me to distraction that way. It’s just that I can’t pull her away from the shoe section.

She runs from one pair of shoes to the next, delighting in their exquisite beauty, trying on one after the other from the princess girl slippers to the stiletto heels.

“You’ve got quite the little shopper there already!” remarked one sales assistant as he watched Kalyra pull one jumper, shirt or skirt off the rack, look it up and down in appraisal and decide if it was worthy for her princess wardrobe or needed to be returned.

I sat by in boredom, trying to teach her the concept of window shopping, especially when we were visiting stores like Billabong and Rip Curl.

This morning as we were getting ready for swimming, she sauntered out in her lilac tracksuit with a grey, knitted belt from her cardigan wrapped stylishly around her neck like a scarf, running her hands ceremoniously down her outfit in an effort to attract my praise.

I was pretty impressed; I’m lucky to match a T-shirt with jeans and here was my three year old looking like she walked off the cover of Kiddie Vogue.

She ignored my pleas to put her shoes on, instead creating another stylish look by wrapping the belt around her waist and tying it up.

This was when time constraints started to close in on me and I started the count to five to signal. It was time to move and Mummy didn’t have the time for divarishness.

I now have to add an extra half an hour onto preparation time to allow for her constant change of outfits. It usually takes about 5 different looks before we get it right and match the colours with the mood,  and the whole look she is trying to achieve. That’s before we even hit the shoes.

The knee high boots don’t sit right, they rub against her legs, the socks are twisted, they’re not sparkly enough, they are the wrong colour, too soft, too hard,

“I don’t look like a princess!’

That’s when this one exhausted Momma walks out of the room, giving her 5 seconds to make a choice before I leave without her. Sure enough she’ll be out with the perfect pair exclaiming,

“See Mum. Look at how beautiful they look with my outfit. I want to wear these ones. Now to find my bag and lip gloss.”

The diva does not allow me to pull her hair back into a pony or put clips in it. The minute the “you-have-to-wear-it-like-this-for-(insert activity)” is over she rips the hair band out and lets her shiny, blonde locks sway around her shoulders again.

We have to carry her over the dewy grass so her feet don’t get wet and dirty. She wails until we wipe any remnants of dirt away.

The tom boy, trekking backpacker in me just wants to roll some of the diva out of her in the dirt.

She lies on the couch, throws her leg on your lap and demands you give her a foot massage or tickle her back. It’s exhausting.

But, seriously, I do secretly love the diva in her, even though I know it is going to be a challenging road. It’s the road she is happy to walk so I’ll walk it with her, just from my side where comfort and ease comes first.

I pity the man who has to take her on. Not only is she a diva, but she is wilful, independent and strong.

Just like I want her to be.

Sounds like an unbelievable, princess find!

She really is only suited to a Prince, of very high stature and calibre.

My Podcast Alley feed! {pca-9b1a22b166a3f5de822a2aebebb2d8e7}