My two-year-old is definitely my daughter.
Well, except for her fear of cupcakes. That part is pretty weird. She certainly didn't inherit that from me (if the 50+ lbs I gained during this most recent pregnancy is any indication).
And everyone tells me she's the spitting image of Mr. Brice. Which is flattering, of course, since I think he's a cutie. But it would be nice to see at least some of my features in her. When she still had blue eyes at 7 months old, we thought she might have inherited my eye color, but no. She's definitely a brown-eyed girl now. Which I guess isn't terribly surprising since she's half Asian.
But she did inherit the storytelling gene.
This was a conversation from the other day in the car --
Her: Speciant Oso!
Me: You want to watch Special Agent Oso?
Her: Yes, Mommy, yes!
Me: We'll be home soon, and then you can watch.
Her: No, Speciant Oso baby!
Me: Special Agent Oso is a baby?
Her:No, Mommy. Baby Alex!
Me: What about the Baby Alex?
Her: He watching, Mommy. Baby watching Speciant Oso!
Me: How can he be watching TV? We're in the car.
Her: No, Mommy. Wanting to watch.
Me: Baby Alex wants to watch Special Agent Oso?
Her: Yes, Mommy! He does. He does, Mommy. He does.
Me: Are you sure it's not you who wants to watch?
Her: (with wide innocent doe eyes) No, Mommy. Baby wants to watch. He does.
Two years old and she's already figured out how to blame things on her baby brother. A girl after my own heart.
I'm sure she'll say he told her he wanted to watch TV. Maybe that's what "ah-goo" means.
And then there was this gem from two nights ago. We were cuddled up in bed and she was flipping through a book, "reading" the story to me. Here's how it went:
"Girl named Amber. Is princess. Want go ballerina class. Mommy said 'oh no.' 'Oh yes.' 'Oh no.' 'Oh yes.' 'Oh no.' 'Oh yes.' Okay. Go ballerina class and dancing. Dancing. Dancing. Princess dancing. Go home and go night night. The End. I read it again, Mommy?"
(OK, so she really said "barina class" but I decided to translate for you to make it easier to understand. But all the rest was as it happened.)
I have to admit, I shed a little tear. The girl might even have a better sense of structure than I do. Did you see the conflict? The emotion? The HEA?
I think it has New York Times Bestseller written all over it. I might have to let her write my blurbs from now on.
Right now is when you're thinking, "She must have been 'reading' one of Amanda's books." One of these, right?
After all, that would make sense. But you'd be wrong. It was this.
She clearly has quite the imagination to have gotten all that from her daddy's old quantum mechanics textbook. I don't think she even realizes that I write, let alone that my books are about "ballerina class."
Speaking of an active imagination, lest you think I'm the mean mommy in the story who doesn't want to let Princess Amber go to ballerina class, this is what she does every weekend.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Posted by Amanda Brice at 12:01 AM