Kiddo is completely not what I expected from my child. (Her best friend in Texas was a complete tomboy. I was once mentioning this to her mother who said, I would have no idea what to do with a girly-girl. Like I do? I thought.) She loves pink, and fancy clothes. She is happiest in a dress (or as she says "girl clothes"). And she loves to dance, especially if that includes twirling. Her lovies are still an old pair of footed pajamas, and a scrap of fabric that used to be a onesie. She is compassionate and patient with her little sister, even though Babs has mostly just antagonized her since she started exercising her free will.
Kiddo is bright, and happy. Everything is an adventure. I recently sat down with her preschool teacher, who pointed out (as I suspected) that Kiddo is way ahead of all the other kids in her academic skills. She worried that Kiddo would be bored. I assured her that was not in Kiddo's personality, and it's true. She excitedly comes home each week telling me about the letter the week, as if she hadn't known that letter, and its sound, for the last three years.
She is helpful, and from reports I overhear from other moms at preschool, much better behaved than a lot of her friends. She wants to learn everything. She often tries to help me with dinner (when I am capable of being helped), and gushes "I want to be just like you mom."
She spent most of the summer picking flowers (weeds) and bringing them to me, to show me how much she loved me. It drove me crazy. But I managed to say thank you every time, knowing that the outpouring of love would eventually be more subtle, and I needed to take it while it came. (I'm expecting more flowers next year though.)
I look into her eyes, which are a lot like mine, and wonder who is this crazy, kind, happy, brilliant child, and how do I keep her that way? I love you Kiddo.
