I was looking at some old photos of my daughter Dylan when she was 4. We used to put her to bed and when we would check on her, she would be wrapped in winter garb.
We lived in an apartment so we kept all the winter stuff in her closet bedroom. Something tells me she didn’t immediately go to sleep after we tucked her in.
But lately, at the age of 8, she seems so big, with a lot less winter attire at bedtime. And she’s opinionated. And very dissatisfied with my parental decisions.
Once again, I’m starting to feel sorry for my mother.
She thinks it’s an outrage that I don’t let her wear leggings to school. (Dylan, not my mother.) “BECAUSE EVERY OTHER GIRL DOES.” Maybe I should?
She thinks it’s unconscionable (my word, not hers) that I won’t let her win a fish at the school fair. Why am I so anti-fish other than the fact that I don’t want to deal with the bowl, or the food or watch it swim sadly in circles or face the day Chase takes it out for a swim in the toilet?
She can not believe I won’t let her leave her bedroom windows open as far as they will go. She thinks my argument about not wanting the twins to fall from the 2nd floor is unconvincing. I’m pretty convinced.
She is devastated to not live right next door to her best friend. And to not have a bathroom attached to her bedroom. Because I guess those are equally as awful.
She thinks she should be allowed to drive even though I told her it’s really boring.
Dylan is an incredibly good child. She does her homework. She finishes her chores. She is ridiculously sweet with the twins. Even her bouts of anger end with apology notes showing great maturity.
I guess I just didn’t expect her fierce desire for independence to start so soon. I thought I had a little more time left. I just wish more love was coming my way, and a few less complaints.
She is growing, changing, testing and at times, it’s exhausting.
But I keep loving her madly. Because that’s what parents do.