I came to motherhood late -- and with zilch hands-on practice. I'd never even held a baby until I held Kate. Part of that was I was afraid I wouldn't want to let go. Part of it was sheer, unmitigated terror. Strange, I know, to have the twin emotions of terror and yearning in response to the same thing.
Suffice it to say, I've had loads of surprises along the way. For turning out to be as good as I am, Kate can thank all the good and sensible moms I know who have steered me right.
One of those surprises has been Kate's fascination with clothes. The child has picked out her outfits since she was 18 months old -- back when I thought it would be a good thing to lay out two different ones and let her choose. I had no idea she really was choosing until I kept pulling out this cute little pink striped outfit and she kept picking the alternative. One day I tried to put said pink outfit on her -- only to get her visceral, "Me no wike!"
Fast forward. She's five. She's in kindergarten, with its PE and climbing equipment and slides and playgrounds. Skirts and flipflops are out, so we have to make do with her shorts wardrobe -- such as it is.
This morning, the child hornswoggled me into letting her change shorts not once, not twice, not three times -- but four . She finally got a pair that she liked -- while I stood there in no makeup, dressed in my ratty bathrobe, hearing the clock tick. And it's not like I didn't lay out clothes the night before.
But my bad. I didn't let Kate choose. Oh, man. I've got to get better at this mothering business.