big girlMy daughter is two years old so we're crossing over into a whole new world of abilities. We're heading into Big Girl territory.

Big Girls use the potty. Big Girls don't eat with their hands. Big Girls sleep in their cribs all night long and don't wake up mommy and daddy. Don't you want to be a Big Girl?

It's come out of my mouth. Not often, but still, I wish I could eat those words.

I hate Big Girl.

Big Girls don't need blankies. Big Girls aren't afraid of the dark. Big Girls can stay at school all day without mama.

Translation: "Honey, let me take away all those things that give you comfort. Let me shame you for not doing things 'experts' say you 'should' be doing now. Let me help you lose your innocence as fast as I can."

Then ... BAM! Once I have her right where I want her, I'll start saying things like:

Only Big Girls can shave their legs. Only Big Girls wear lipstick. Only Big Girls are allowed to go to PG movies. Only Big Girls can wear slutty clothes (and only after their mother is dead).

Translation: "Honey, what's your rush? You're only a kid once, enjoy it! Now come give mama a hug. Please?"

There's gotta be something better than Big Girl. There just has to be, because the other night my little two-year-old cuddled in close, looked up at me with big, sad eyes and said, "Mama, I don't want to be a big girl."

That's all I needed to hear.

Buh-bye, Big Girl.

If my daughter is wearing diapers, eating with her hands, and crying for her blankie when she's 16, then so be it -- after all, she'll still be watching G-rated movies.

 

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