Thursday, April 9

the small queen

There is a new small person in my life.
She is about two thirds my height, loves ice cream, music, and scaring anyone, at any moment, throughout the day.
As I mentioned in a previous post, after I met my left-hand man and got married, I gained a 5-year-old girl, in her adorable and whimsical prime.
She is BIG into fairytale at the moment. At any given time, she will be a fairy, unicorn, mermaid, or queen (not, she will inform you, a princess). She can produce any Frozen song (1 or 2) at any time, anywhere, complete with all lyrics memorized. 
"Guess what I'm going to be when I grow up? A stage singer," she has been informing us of late.
I'm so delighted by this small person, which is the very best way to describe her. And I'm impressed with the great honor and responsibility of the position of influence I've been given.

I am now regularly propositioned: "I need you to help me go to the bathroom." I guess it's more of a demand than a pitch, but at least she makes me feel needed. And by 'help' she means keep her company while she sits on the toilet, supply exactly four ply of toilet paper in due time, and wash your hands with her. I take my role in moral support very seriously.

When asked, as a 5yr old myself, what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, "A mommy." And as an adult, I have wondered what it would be like to be a one-armed mommy, never knowing if I would have the opportunity to find out. But apparently this small person is curious to know what it is like to be me, a nearly 40yr old newly married, unemployed woman trying to get in touch with her creative self.  
"Do you want to go swimming," I might propose to the small queen, and she will very likely respond, "Do YOU want to go swimming? I want to do what you want to do."

And when she is in the mood to learn my ways, she is a dedicated student. When we sit by the pool, me reading Vagina, A New Biography, and she one of various Frozen 2 adventures, she will wait to turn a page at the exact moment that I do. She waits to sip her hot chocolate for when I take a drink of my latte. She will refuse to wash her left hand unless I bend over sideways to allow Finneas a brief rinse. It's like being followed by a small robot, programing itself based on your actions.

Never have I been so aware of the way I do everything in my life. Now I know why moms are so exhausted. It's a huge job being the example template of adulthood. Frankly, it's overwhelming to think about, and I'm only part-time. But it also feels so exactly what I am meant to be at this time. She invites me to play with her, and what better way to spark my creative self. Whatever will I do when she stops requesting my presence at court by her porcelain throne?


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