One afternoon this week, Kiddo called me "Mom." Babs retorted, "No, she's a parent!" Except she had to say it about four times before we understood what she was saying. And by then, Kiddo decided that was no good for her.
"You're not my parent," she told me.
"Oh?" I replied.
"I just want to take care of myself," she replied. Considering I'm currently (always?) overwhelmed with the idea of caring for the physical needs of two small children, I was intrigued by this turn of events. In fact, I couldn't respond to her for a few minutes while I chose not to reply with the vaguely sarcastic comments that kept running through my mind. I also considered how freaked out she could get if I pushed the idea of independence (which scares her frequently).
"Well, where will you live?" I asked.
"In my room."
"Oh. What will you eat?" I wondered.
"I think I need one of those toys that is a kitchen set. Then I would have a place to make food in my room."
I made some comment about the great pretend food she could enjoy, and a few moments later she stood up and went off to her room.
Five minutes later she was back. "I would miss you too much if I left!" she exclaimed.
Me too.
