It finally happened.
Last night after work I went back to the used kids’ clothing store and returned the boots and ski jacket I’d rented for the girls. Willow’s pants have been sprouting holes in the knees, so I picked up some cute embroidered jeans for her and a pretty linen top for Sophie. Then I went to get groceries, came home, and put the clothes in one of the bags, hoping to just sneak them in to the house unnoticed. But, they were spotted, and while I’d pegged sick-all-week-Soph as the one to pout, (Why didn’t I get jeans? Those are pretty! NOT FAIR!) it was Willow who was devastated.
She cried. And I said, Sorry, honey! I didn’t know you’d rather have a shirt. If you can pull yourself together and ask nicely, I’m sure we can go back and find you a shirt this weekend. Plus, you did just get new clothes for your birthday. Don’t you think the jeans are cute?
WANT (big lip)
A (wail, exaggerated sucking in of breath)
So, I sent her to her room, where she flung herself on her bed with MAXIMUM drama and continued to sob and wail.
I went back to the kitchen to unpack the groceries.
Willow appeared in the kitchen and glared at me.
MOMMY. YOU SUCK! she yelled between sobs. Then she went back to her bed to cry.
I couldn’t help but laugh. However, she was the last one of the kids who’d never yelled I hate you. Or, uh, YOU SUCK. I feel like even more than having my last kid out of diapers or being five or whatever else you use to mark the baby to big kidness, having her square off against me means that I don’t have babies any more. I have kids. Big, loud, funny, difficult, smart, fascinating kids. And now the same old same old is unknown and new.