During the year that I've been dropping my daughter off to get ready for school at my mother's house, some things have apparently changed. I had a picture in my mind of the two of us having a nice breakfast together in my quiet kitchen. Well, I don't actually eat breakfast, but I could sit with her and drink my coffee while she ate like I did when she was a toddler. I always loved that morning time, just sitting and talking while she ate her Cheerios.
Turns out, though, that she's got Things to Do in the morning. She carries her cereal into the living room and flips on videos on On Demand while she uses a decorative mirror that was my grandmother's to put on as much make-up as she thinks she might be able to get away with and some earrings that I think are far too ornate for school.
I think if I'd been warned about this, I would have anticipated a tragedy. My baby! Turns out it's pretty cool. Not, you understand, that I wouldn't be delighted to sit down and share coffee and Cheerios with her (the her of today or the toddler in her high chair or any of the dozens of incarnations in between). But what she's doing instead is being herself, doing the things she wants to do and doing them in her own home without rushing or making sure that she's remembered to bring the nail polish she wants to wear along with her when she leaves the house at 6 a.m. It's good to watch, even if I could do without Fergie at 7:30 a.m.
And it turns out she looks good with a little bit of lip gloss.
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