I have previously mentioned The Kidling’s propensity toward honesty. Typically, said honesty falls into the “total” category, yet it occasionally crosses over to “brutal.” Please, no comments about what it is going to be like when she turns 14. I don’t want to hear it.
La la la la la la la la. I’m not listening. Hmmm hm hm hm hm hm. La la la la la la. What? Oh, you’ve stopped? Good. Don’t try that again.
Where was I? Oh yes, honesty. This story refers to the brutal variety. You probably saw that coming.
First, a confession: I really like to look in the mirror at The Kidling and The Mama. A lot. I pick her up, find a mirror, squish my face next to hers, and stare. I know it is a little weird and a lot narcissistic, but with my limited understanding of genetics and biology, I am forever amazed by all of the people I see in her tiny, perfect face. The Mama and The Dada, sure, but also myriad uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins… her face is like a little window into our past.
And, well, I admit it: we are just so darned cute together. There’s that, too.
But Alice sees it differently. Just a few days ago, she was pondering her mouth. I have no idea why, so don’t ask. Whilst considering their beauty, she declared of her lips, “Mine are like red strawberries. Yours are like… like… pink strawberries that aren’t very healthy.”
Thanks, babe. Consider the ego checked.