(Future college roommates?)
My 7-year-old: Mommy, can mommies live with their kids in the domes when they go to college?
Me: The domes? What domes? Oh, you mean, dorms.
My 7-year-old: Yes! Dorms. I don’t ever want to live without you. Can we live in the dorms together when I go to college?
Me (internally): Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
Part of me wants to tell my sweet 7-year-old that the mother whom she begs to snuggle with day and night is probably the last person she’ll want to share a 12’ x 12’ space with as an 18-year-old.
The other part of me wants to draft a contract and make my kid sign it so that I can wave it in her face when she’s 13, slamming doors and screaming at the top of her lungs about how unfair I am.
I tell my daughter how much I appreciate the hugs, kisses, and unconditional love she showers upon me on a daily basis. I squeeze the stuffing out of her each time she tells me I am the best mom in the universe, and I play along when she insists that it is impossible that there would ever come a day when she would utter the words: “I hate you Mom!”
I’ve told her on numerous occasions that she’ll feel differently when she’s 16.
Her response: “I promise I won’t, Mommy! I promise! We’re best friends forever!”
Seven.
Man, I love seven.
I also love the idea of a contract, but she’ll break it, of course.
Instead, I’ve got this.
Words immortalized in cyberspace.
As I look back at earlier posts I see how our relationship has evolved over time. It should.
Any parent can tell you that you don’t love a drooling baby the same way you do a chatty 4-year-old or a second grader who refuses to believe there will ever come a day when she will be counting the days until college.
As time marches on we don’t love less or more, but differently.
Did I mention that my daughter has also promised me that she won’t marry a guy unless he agrees to allow me to live in their home and eat all of their food?
Promises. Promises.
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