Tuesday, June 7, 2011


Ya'll, I'm so not ready.

My Princess turned 4 on Thursday.  Four.  Quatro.  Quatre. 

Or as we say in South Carolina, Foh-wer!

I just loved Three.  It was not quite baby, but not quite big girl either.  She still sucked her thumb and wanted me to rock her to sleep at night.  She still had baby fat and square feet.  Her drawings were lines and dots, circles and squigglies.  She could be happy with a box of crayons or some legos.

Three wasn't all bubbles and baby powder, though.  We had our ups and downs.  Three was actually accompanied by a lot of very dramatic histrionic mood swings that at times caused me to want to run to my own Mama, throw myself at her feet, and beg her forgiveness for that one eensy-weensy little period of time in my life that I disrespected her. 

I think she remembers it as my toddler, school-age, adolescent, and teenage years.

But suddenly out of nowhere my baby went and grew up, and can now unlock all the child locks on the doorknobs with the mere flick of a wrist.  She wants to read books that actually have chapters and plots.  She can draw stick figures and faces and rainbows.  She wants to drink from a regular cup.  She carries a purse with her everywhere and applies Disney Princess strawberry lip gloss in the bathroom mirror.  She reaches for my iPhone almost instinctively to retrieve her games and videos.  And now she asks me questions like, "Mom, what is inertia?"  (Don't feel bad.  I had to look it up, too.)

Yeeaaah, this though, I was definitely unprepared for.  A summary of the phone call I received at work the other day:

Ring, ring.  Hello?

Chris:  "Hi.  How's your day?  Aria has something to ask you."  Snicker, snicker.

Me:  "Hmmkayyyyy....  Lemme talk to her."

Aria:  "Hi Mommy!  Daddy told me to ask you, 'What is that?'"

Me:  "What is what?"

Aria:  "That".

Me:  "What?  Can you be more specific?"

Aria:  "That pointy thing"

Me, panicking:  "Um, what pointy thing?"

Aria:  "That pointy thing, Mommy, down there."

Me:  "WHAT?"

Aria:  "The pointy thing.  Down there.  By your hiney."


Chris:  Peals of laughter

Me:  "What is going on?  Did she just say what I think she said???"

Chris:  PealsPea-yulls.  Of laughter.

Me:  "Honeeeeeeeeeyyy.  Be serious!  Really?  What happened?  Why is she asking me this?  And what did you say when she asked you?"

Chris:  "I told her to ask you".

Me:  "Okay.  Put her back on the phone".

Aria:  "Hi, Mommy!  Why is Daddy laughing?  Is it because of that thing?  That pointy thing?  By your hiney?"

Me:  Deep breath.  "It... well... that is...well... um... The pointy thing  ItsDaddyspeepee, Aria.  Boyshavepeepeesontheoutside andgirlshavepeepeesontheinside".   Another deep breath.    "AriaMommylovesyouverymuchnowputDaddybackonthephone".

Chris:  More peals of laughter.

Me:  "What the heck?  What happened while I was at work?"

Chris:  MORE peals of laughter.  "She walked in on me peeing.  And she asked.  And I thought you would like to handle it." Hysterical laughing - nay - GUFFAWING from my very supportive husband.

Okay, I'm not dumb.  I knew it was coming, I knew it.  I mean, the kid can open the child safety locks on doors, for pete's sake.  And she'll pretty much track you down anywhere in the house to ask you anything, so it was bound to happen, her walking in on one of us on the potty.  I just wasn't ready for the questions.

I thought I had ten, twelve more years.

Uh huh.  Ya'll.  YAWL.  I'm so not ready for this.


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