We are a very common breed. Adult women who grew as “daddy’s little girls” and we are going to be like that “per secula seculorum” … No matter how old we are, no matter what happens in our lives our dad will always see in us “the little girl” who never grew up. The one he continues protecting and monitoring, giving her advices and even money from time to time.
Hence, our daughters can’t deceive us; not with that not-so-innocent look in their eyes when they have done something bad, or with that dramatic tone and crocodile tears when they ask daddy for something they want. We know perfectly well that procedure which in reality is a crystal clear form of manipulation that “daddy’s little girls” somehow know to take advantage with. But beware; we do not do it consciously. It comes intrinsic. Indeed I would say it is genetic and is stimulated since we are born. We know that a kiss, a smile, or a word can melt daddy and force him to comply our requests. So there is no one like Dad for us. And experts say that very likely us, “daddy’s little girls” will always end up getting married to a man of similar characteristics to our dad. It is not a crazy statement. Many times my husband throws particular comments or makes things that leave me thinking, “my husband is the Russian version of my dad.” It makes sense.
Now, if there is something worse and more manipulative than a “daddy’s little girl”, are the daughters of these daughters. If Daddy wanted to give me the stars, now he wants to give the entire universe to his granddaughter. And she knows it. These innocent granddaughters are million times more spoiled than their mothers were. They know they are the center of the universe of the grandfather who abandons every principle and rule to please his granddaughter. Granddaughters don’t take no for an answer. So do not be alarmed if after a weekend with grandpa your daughter will not sleep early, only wants to eat candy or rebels against all your rules. Which in part also applies to grandsons. However, with them is different, because the super natural spoiling for boys comes from the grandmother … but that’s another story and can become worse.
I see in Eva, my daughter, a mirror. Not just because the features that we may share but also, because of her behavior when her dad is around. When she sees “papa” with that love, that joy, that worship I can see myself at her age. There is no doubt that for us the first love is our dad. A love that you never forget, that locks over the years. I go always to my dad for everything. And I melt of tenderness when I see him with my daughter. I am happy and lucky to be a “daddy’s little girl”. I was the princess of the castle, the untouchable. To my father I owe the best advices, the best examples. To hold his castle and to give me a Princess’ life, he has had to work hard, and sacrifice much. He taught me to pursue my ideals and even to defend myself. Even though in his heart he felt no one was ever going to protect me the way he did, he knew that one day I would leave the kingdom and had to defend myself. Then he taught me to fight and not give in to the obstacles that life for sure was going to impose. And what’s better, he is still giving me life lessons. My daughter took my throne that is clear. And her position as “daddy’s little girl” and “grandpa’s little girl” is getting stronger. She has some sort of magic in her eyes that she uses to dominate completely father and grandfather equally. This makes me smile and although I know I’ll have to play “bad cop” for many years, it makes me happy to see her happy. And I laugh seeing my husband subjugated by this little queen … I remember when he told me that this would never happen. That if he ever had a daughter he would never get manipulated… little did he know, didn’t he? Just a look is enough for him to give her whatever she asks. I do not judge, for me it was the same. Now I’ll see what happens when the little boy I am expecting arrives… because from what I’ve heard and seen “mama’s boys” are also a piece of work … I’ll leave that for a future post.
