what?

Oh, 7.

How I enjoy you.

Watching you. Talking with you. Listening to you. Biting my lips to keep from infuriating you.

So far you’ve been a fascinating year. You’ve read over my shoulder. You’ve shared interesting observations. Your opinions have started changing into your own, though still reflect mine enough that we can relate. And your anger? It make sense. I mean, it was valid before, but now it’s big-kid anger. Not small-kid irrationality. And you also still seek to be understood, dropping me hints all over the place, so I know what’s going on.

Of course as I write this we’re nearly half-way done with each other, so this information may expire before bedtime tonight, but until then I celebrate my favorite part of you thus far.

The What.

Whaaaaaat? (accusatory): I didn’t even know you’d done something wrong. I was so absorbed in, well, I don’t know what, but something else, that I walked right past this nefarious behavior and would’ve kept walking if you didn’t accuse me of catching you, thus alerting me to the fact that I should be parenting you. Thanks for the heads-up.

Whaaaaaa? (silly): I need to open the closest window because you’ve passed something that delights your sister, and would make your father proud.

What? (snappy, undercover): We’re suddenly in a stand-off that I knew nothing about. I look down. You look up, hands-on-hips. I still don’t have any idea what’s going on. You huff and inform me that you’re wearing both of your glossy bands. At which point I congratulate you and tell you that they’ll look lovely from the stairs, where you’ll be sitting for the next seven minutes until you’ve cooled off and are ready to tell me what’s actually going on.

WHAT? (challenging): I’ve caught you in the middle of something with your sister. You were so angry that you didn’t hear your own words, her words, or me sneaking up on you. Though I told you, I wasn’t sneaking. That’s just what you’ve decided I was doing because you were caught.

WHAAT?! (High-pitched, “what’s up with that?” fashion): You are shocked. Incensed. We’re on the same team and I can’t wait to hear what you’re about to tell me because you can’t wait to tell me about it. I like it even better when you actually use the whole “What’s up with that?” phrase because it lets me know that in addition to vitamins and nutrients, I also passed along Seinfeld and Friends while breastfeeding. (Because I’m positive I’ve never said that phrase aloud…at least since you were born and I no longer had time for syndication.)

What? (Confused.) The Face-Value What. You didn’t hear what I said and you still care to know what it was. You’re so cute when you give a flip.

What? (Tight-lipped, sigh-and-shoulder-sag): You don’t give a flip, and you don’t even care enough to add attitude.

WHAT. (Not a question. A statement.) This lets me know that we are closer to 8 than I’d like to admit. Peeking in the doorway of second grade, where everything changes, and you sail off into yourself. I can only hope I’ve done more right than I suspect because you are now officially Who You Are.

Please don’t leave me 7.

Please.

©2012 CEK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

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