Mamalode

“You got another tattoo mommy?” she squealed.

I grew up surrounded by the noise, and smell, of boys. I both hated and loved it. It shaped me into the me I am today.

Part of me just loves that she skipped right over wanting to be a princess, and went straight to being the queen.

 I knew what amazing teachers were, I was raised by them.

While I don’t actually hope she’ll be like me in every way, Skye wanting to be “just like mommy” feels like some kind of parenting win, even if it doesn’t last forever.

I did spend a lot of time however wondering in what ways my daughter would be like, or unlike me. I knew I couldn’t pick the genetic traits she’d inherit, but there were still things I hoped for.

Sometimes, a girl just needs her grandma. And her mom.

Some days I feel completely drained by 10 a.m.—exhausted by the sheer force of my daughter’s will.

Does it really matter what age we become parents, when we all of us are just trying to provide better—more—for our kids than what we had ourselves?

“Play with me mommy,” she pleaded for the third time in an hour.