“I HATE MY MOMMY!”
Those four little words echoed off the walls of our tiny living room and instantly shattered me like glass.
“You apologize to your mother RIGHT NOW!” Andrè tried to help, but the damage had already been done.
I sat in the corner, jaw dropped open, sweater pulled up over my mouth – not sure whether to laugh hysterically or sob.
So this is four.
My mother tried to warn me that this is the age where children begin to separate themselves and establish their independence, sometimes aggressively. I thought this would happen to anyone else, and certainly not to my sweet little Danger, but obviously I was wrong.
The baby days are simply gone.
“Mommy, I have more applesauce, please?” has been replaced with, “I do it myself.” Sometimes it seems like I have to bark orders at a teenager instead of a darling four year old girl. This is different. This is new. This is scary.
So today, while I try to soak up every ounce of babyness that my little Danger has left, I will continue to encourage her independence – even if it means that I have to get my feelings hurt in the process.
This is four, and this sucks.