Avery selected her outfit for school today and requested a “low bun” hairstyle. As I oohed and ahhed over her choices, she expertly posed for my all-too-familiar iPhone camera. Over breakfast, she said to my husband “It’s gonna be a long day…Babe, give me a kiss.”
It occurs to me that the words hashtag, blog, and mocktail are a normal part of her three-year-old vernacular. She often requests Pellegrino in her orange juice to make it “sparkly”.
I view all these things with a sense of pride as well as a sense of fear. She is so much like me. She is SO MUCH like me. And I’m picking up things from her too. Sometimes I inadvertantly tell my husband that I need to “go potty”. Once in a while I use the word “forcause” in place of “because”. I’ve rediscovered books and TV shows I loved as a kid. Avery and I cuddle and watch Avonlea every night before bedtime. (Does anyone else remember that show from Disney channel?)
Avery knows the alphabet and please and thank you. We practice reading and counting and watch PBS. But until the age of 2, when we were in the car she mostly listened to Jay-Z. Maybe this is why she’s so good at rhyming.
I’m reminded of a phrase I heard once (or probably saw on Pinterest) that says, “if anyone is going to mess up my kids, it’s going to be me.” Isn’t that the truth? What they don’t tell you about being a parent is that you are growing up right along side your baby. Here I quit my job to spend all day every day with my kids and somehow the two of us are morphing into one three-year-old-going-on-30.