She's only 3, but I can already tell my daughter is a wild child. It's possible she will run off and live in a commune for a year when she's 18. She'll probably play guitar in a band, write songs about death, and inspire concerned English teachers to call me every week. She's going to be attracted to the class clowns and the boys who wear cologne at age 12. It's entirely possible she'll give my husband a heart attack before she's out of her teens.
Believe it or not, I've made peace with most of these possibilities. All I ask in return -- the ONLY thing I ask in return -- is that she appreciates, no, LOVES school.
So far, so good. She just started nursery school and, literally, claps her hands when she wakes up and discovers it is one of the three days when she gets to carry her princess lunch bag like a big kid. And, in true psycho-mom fashion, I am seizing upon this once-in-a-lifetime moment by forcing my child to do homework assignments I create for her.