I have a quiz for you today. If you are the mother of a daughter, at what age do you expect her to start talking to you like she's a sullen teenager and you've been put on this earth simply to annoy her? At what age does a question such as "Are your feet cold?" get, through clenched teeth, "YOU ALREADY ASKED ME THAT!!!" Nevermind that it was YESTERDAY that I dared ask her the same STUPID question and nevermind that said child insisted on wearing her new pink flip-flops to school, when it's only 36 degrees as we walk toward the classroom. At what age does she come down the stairs in the pajamas you made for her, sleepy-eyed, mussed hair, and runs into your arms, requesting to snuggle....and then not 20 seconds later does her best Hannibal Lector impersonation when you have the audacity to ask how she slept.
Seven. That's when. Approximately 6 years sooner than I'd expected.
The other night I heard a line in a movie that I could SO relate to: "Kids. One minute you think your heart is literally going to burst you love them so much. And the next minute you want to get a cardboard box, punch some breathing holes in the top, put your child inside and drop them off in a park somewhere."
sigh.
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3 comments:
My only dtr is 10. All I can say is good luck, and hold the hell on, it goes downhill from here.
(p.s. I truly love my dtr more than anything in this world and would quickly turn into a rabid jackel should someone touch and hair on her head, but she does make it hard sometimes.)
We're baaaaack! Love the new pic - did you take it?
Forget the breathing holes. Just get the box. Or, on the soon to be another cold day, put her outside and lock the door. She'll come around.
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