my daughter Isabella has eyes for two men.
her daddy. and Diego Marquez. (It’s obviously clear where her tastes lie. dark bushy hair. dark eyes. dark skin)
It used to be all about Dora. It was “I wah Dora” morning, noon and night. and even in the middle of the night when she woke up, it wasn’t “mama!” or “dada!” it was always Dora. she spoke only of Boots and map and backpack. and grumpy old troll. and benny. and isa. and the fiesta trio. we have creepy chuckie-like dancing Dora dolls all over the house. we have a Dora chair. and three Dora dolls, in three different sizes, slept beside Isabella in her crib each night. Dora towels and dora bath toys. dora. dora. dora.
and then something happened.
she fell for those big brown eyes.
and it became the rescue pack over backpack.
and it became click the camera over the map.
and it became baby jaguar over boots.
and it became sammy the sloth over isa the iguana.
and it became linda the llama over tico the squirrel.
and it became the bobo brothers over swiper.
and it became Alicia over all of the Dora’s sidekicks.
and now it’s ONLY about Diego, who she ever-so-cutely calls “Go-Go” she only has one Diego toy…a little little-people-sized Diego plastic figurine. but, i’ll be damned if she doesn’t shlep that thing everywhere she goes.
i fear the Dora toys might make their way down to the basement to spend eternity with all the bear in the big blue house and blue’s clues and wiggles paraphernalia. to the forgotten toy graveyard.
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