Girl Child is obsessed with Littlest Pet Shop figurines. She never really got into the Barbie doll thing (like I did), or the baby doll thing (me, again).  There was a brief foray into the Polly Pocket epidemic, but her love for all things LPS (Littlest Pet Shop for those of you not hip to the lingo) has never wavered and, in fact, has only grown stronger.  I’m totally cool with this because she’s nine and borderline preteen, an age where she may wake up one morning and abandon all toys altogether.  So kudos for remaining a little girl for a little while longer.

She loves them.  Like, LOVE loves them. A deep love as if they’re her own children. “They’re my best friends,” she once declared (collective aaaaaawwwwweee….). She makes videos with them. Has written scripts and acts out their “life”. She has “apartments” set up around her room where they live. And she tucks them in at night.

Yesterday, one of her good friends from school was over to play. There had been some previous discussion about a possible LPS trade, of which I had my concerns. It has been my experience, as a mother of nearly sixteen years, that trades often do not end well.

As I eavesdropped (because I’m classy like that) on the negotiations, I feared that my GirlChild wasn’t really 100 percent into this transaction and if I were a better mother I would have inserted myself into the situation and suggest that perhaps they sleep on it and see how they feel about the arrangement over the next couple of days. But I didn’t because I’m not. I allowed the exchange to take place, and the friend to walk out the door with her mother…and then twenty minutes later watch my own daughter crumble under the immense traders remorse and the unbearable guilt she was feeling about giving her “best friends” away and how she MADE A MISTAKE AND SHE WANTS TO TRADE BAAAAAAAACK!!!  Heart. Broken.

So, I did the only thing I could, and contacted the mother to relay the dilemma, and “could the girls please trade back tomorrow?” (today). Of course she understood and would talk to her own daughter.  And here I sit, worrying all morning, wondering if the trade back took place on the playground this morning before school…or if they weren’t able to find each other before class started…and if not, worrying that my daughter’s mind is not at all on the lessons taking place in her classroom, but instead, anxiety ridden wondering when she will get her best friends back.

And if the trade back isn’t able to happen before the end of the school day, I will pick my daughter up at three o’clock, she will get in the car…and because she has a phobia about crying in front of her peers in school….she will promptly burst into tears the minute her ass hits the seat.

Fingers crossed, kids.