Five and a half years ago, I gave birth to a beautiful little girl. She cooed, cuddled, and exuded a sweet demeanor.
And then, she learned how to talk. Her first word was, “Mommy,” which was the high point of her vocabulary skills. Eventually she moved on to full sentences, and all hell broke loose.
The Girl (to my mom): I know why your cat died.
My Mom: You do?
The Girl: Because he was old. Just like you.
(Playing Let it Goat, a game like Flappy Bird)
The Girl: Ow! My kidney!
The Girl, a few minutes later: Mommy? What’s a kidney?
(During a discussion on the proper terms for anatomy)
The Girl: So, what’s a “fur-china” again?
Me: Why is there yogurt all over the table?
The Girl: It wasn’t my fault! I jumped off the table and the yogurt leapt out!
Me: I love you, baby girl.
The Girl: I know.
The Girl: I am being honest; I peed in my pull-up.
Me: so, where is it?
The Girl: behind the toilet.
(Told she needs to go home after a sleepover)
The Girl: No! I don’t want to leave! We’re watching Barbie Fairytopia!
Me: I’m taking you shopping.
The Girl: (stops crying) Oh! I love shopping!
So, there you have it. I am blessed with a daughter who is wily, obnoxious, smart, beautiful, willful, stubborn…. you get it. She’s awesome and I have no idea how to raise her.
Pray for me.
There will be a second installment about my son, who is hilarious for different reasons.