Sunday, June 14, 2009
Brace yourself, Effie. There are gonna be tears.
Or that's how I imagined it would be when I first heard those three coveted words from my child. When it actually happened I was torn.
Today is the day my daughter first told me she loved me. I can still hear it: Iiiiiiii .... Looooooove .... Youuuuuuuuu! She even crossed her arms over her chest, sign-language style while saying it.
Had it not happened after she'd been brazenly disobedient, I might have been inspired to write my own Hallmark card, perhaps in Shakespearean sonnet. As it is, I had to reciprocate the (genuine) love through gritted teeth.
We live in a building with fire escapes. The doors to these fire escapes are usually left open, which might be liberating for some but are a constant source of anxiety for me. When CC and I were heading out on errands this afternoon, she told me she'd rather walk than be carried: "No up. Walk."
"OK," I said nervously, clinching every muscle that could physically clinch.
As I turned to lock the door, she was off. And this kid is fast. F.A.S.T.
By the time I finished locking the door, she was halfway down the hall. I knew I had to move quickly. In wedge heels, no less.
"STOP!" I shouted. "STOP!"
No answer. It's like the kid had turned off her metaphorical Miracle Ear.
When I finally caught up with her, I yelled so loudly, I was sure neighbors would complain. And she just laughed, thinking it was a game.
So I swept her up, marched her downstairs, and we headed to the car while I ignored her baby pleas for attention:
First, there were kisses. No response from Mama.
Then, the optimistic, "Park?"
"We are NOT going to the park!" I growled.
Then she brought out the big guns.
"Iiiiiiiiiiiii. ... Loooooooooove. ..... Youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"
Didn't know whether to hug her or sign her up for next year's gubernatorial race. Kid obviously has the politics down.