One day, you might be a mom. Remember when I told your older brother recently after he asked a version of the classic question and I answered – “babies grow inside imas… they start as eggs… that are inside all girls when they’re born” – and then you looked up at me wide-eyed and said “I’m a girl!”
Yes, you are a girl Bebe, and like I said, one day you may be a mom. But for now, hear me out for the sake of ten years from now. Or tomorrow. To put it simply, I’m doing the best I can not to put all my crap on you. Naturally, I am doing just that (omg she chose something pink once; omg is she confident enough, omg her hair doesn’t stay neatly in a pony tail), but I’m trying not to. Not only because it’s parentaly problematic (albeit natural) but also because we’re so different.
You inspire me. Every time you come over to me or your dad or your brother, completely randomly, and throw your arms around our necks, and share your big dimply, chipped-tooth smile. Or when you wake me up in the morning by running your fingers over my cheeks. Or ask me if <insert body part here> hurts. Or offer me one of your treasured plasters.
You were born this way. When you walk into gan in the morning and your girlfriends line up to give and get your hugs, I feel so proud. I feel so lucky to have a child wired for affection and love and care. I wasn’t that child. I’m pretty certain everyone is certain I’m not that adult. So I’m lucky to have you to inspire me.
You’ve been into babies lately. For the last six months or so, you take care of your booba and your mumu; putting them to bed, taking them in strollers. And inquiring about friends’ babies, to their moms, as if you’re considering your own conception options in the near future. I cherish that curiosity. And your role play.
And as you like to affirm, you’re not a baby anymore. We chat in the car at pickup. We play Candy Land; you’re really starting to get it. You love building towers! And when I teach you about support beams you kinda get it!
You’re toilet trained, with quite the underwear collection. Have you figured out how to say it in Hebrew yet? It’s nice though that you taught your Hebrew-speaking teacher the word ‘undies.’ (I just wish you’d tell me you ‘need to pee’ as opposed to always phrasing it as, ‘I did pee.’)
You enjoy adventure, but sometimes need to check it out first.
You’ve got your own sense of style and I’m definitely not taking that away from you. As much as I cringe at your daily preference for chunky rainbow striped Elmo socks with overworn brown Mary Janes. My favorite is this one:
‘What do you want to wear to bed?’
Keep walking your own way, B. I mean that literally, too. It’s quirky and I’m sure you’ll figure out a more efficient way to run soon. But whatever gets you going works for me, too.
Also, this. This is who you are. Don’t change.