Abby has no idea how much she is like her mother. I hesitate to let her in on my dirty little secret, knowing someday she will hate every inch of everything about herself that is like me. So I don't say a word, at least not to her. She's a smart little lady, but there is no way she could know the ways she resembles her mom, things she couldn't know because she's never seen me do, making her actions all the more frightening.
Which brings me to the other night. After giving the girls their baths, the three of us, teeth brushed and wearing our pajamas, snuggled up in blankets on my bed with our stories to cap off the night. Abby must have gotten up five times to wash her hands. What could possibly be bothering her that much to force her to wash so frequently? "I'm sticky," she repeatedly told me. Great. I hate being sticky. In fact, when I was younger it was so bad that if I got syrup on the handle of my fork while eating pancakes, I would get up from the table, wash my hands and get a clean fork. Could this be the tell-tale sign this little person was destined to be me? After the sixth time I just couldn't take it anymore. She was disrupting my rhythm. So I asked her, "Abby, why are your hands so sticky?" She exclaimed in anger while hiding her face with embarrassment, "Because they have boogers on them!"
Ahhh, problem solved. Tonight she's not my kid. She's Geoff's.
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{About Me}
- brookie
- Fairborn, Ohio, United States
- I'm a teacher by trade, writer at heart & mom in every sense of my being. I never considered writing as a profession, but after I got married and began moving around the country, I began sharing my adventures, misadventures & updates through a sort of e-mail newsletter. I found a true passion in unconventional story-telling that has followed me into motherhood.
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