My lovely daughter, whom I carried and gave birth to, whom I loved and cherished, fed and changed, clothed and listened to for all eleven years of her life, has become someone I'm not sure I recognize.
She is taller, so much taller, nearly to my nose now. She has asked to shave her armpits AND her legs, and actually needs a bra, not just for the social aspect, but for the support. And her mind - the girl is as smart as a whip and takes after her practical-joking father.
Just yesterday, she was making us lunch (her specialty, cheese quesadillas) and I asked her to make sure her dad's was made first and that he would get two. I saw her put them on a plate and start spreading the cheese. I left his lunch in good dependable hands, so I was shocked and confused when he asked me why he doesn't get to eat as I settle down to munch on mine. I couldn't even form words in my confusion. "Huh?" was the only brilliant sound I could utter. Then as he complained of hunger and neglect, I recalled seeing his plate. I KNEW he had his meal first. So I told him so. And I reached out to my daughter, the same one who did the making, to verify that he had already eaten his. She looked me in the eye and said she hadn't made his yet.
I was dumbfounded. My innocent little girl was full of impish delight and couldn't stop smiling at the delectable little joke she hadn't planned with her dad, but that had teamed them up anyway.
I feel I am now on my own. Hmph.
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