Fasten Your Seatbelts, She'll Be 13 Someday
My three year old is quite something.
The other day, I overheard her playing with her big sister, and heard her say: "My boyfriend is 8, and he doesn't even drive yet."
What is that?
This is the same little bit who turns her backside to her older brothers, pokes her little bottom towards them, and says, "I'm shaking my booty at you!"
The same girl who refuses to hold my hand across a street, insisting that she will "hold my own hand" instead. Picture a stubborn little peanut holding one hand in the other, chin up, marching across the street.
The same girl who said to me today, in response to my telling her that she could not play in the fancy new dress a friend gave her, "I'll just sneak in my room and put it on when you aren't looking." I kid you not, that's what she said.
The same girl who, when she kisses her father, I feel the need to tell her that he is already married. (She likes to give him what she calls "Ratatouille Kisses," from the Pixar movie, the scene where Linguini and Collete finally smooch on the street. This involves lots of head movement.)
She has perfected the "Hmpf!"...she puts lip balm on her eyelashes...she channels Hannah Montana (which, I feel the need to say, she has never watched under our roof, and yet she does a mean Rock Star dance routine)...
She also does an amazing impression of our neighbor performing a kareoke version of Nirvana; few things are more hilarious in life than my daughter doing Ted the neighbor doing Kurt Cobain.
Start praying for us now; we have 10 years before she turns 13.