It seems to me that for some mothers (I am going to omit the fathers from this one because honestly I just don't observe it there as much) their children have become the ultimate bragging point, their most prized accessory.
They dress their children up in tiny versions of designer clothes, buy them perfect little name brand hats, paint their fingernails and make them into these tiny model adults that they can show off to the world.
They brag that "Little Molly was walking at only six months old! See those beautiful pearly whites? She was born with a gorgeous mouth full of teeth. She's just that advanced!" The secret to teaching your eighteen month old how to read Chaucer by age two and Faulker by age three is passed around like a dirty magazine in a boys locker room.
And I just don't get it. I don't understand moms who want to turn their babeis into little adults and rush them from one milestone to the next without pausing to look at the one that just passed. I don't ever want to do that. I don't ever want to be that mom who is missing out on her baby's childhood in order to be able to brag about her accomplishments.
I want Evie's childhood to be full of finger paint and messy hair, feet that are dirty from running around barefoot clad in nothing but her diaper, fingers sticky with leftover popsicle, hair turned green from too much time in the swimming pool, knees scraped on pavement, fingers burned from roasting marshmallows for s'mores and sweet dreams at night.
There will be time enough for clothes and make-up and academic accomplishments when she's too old to point out every single fallen leaf on our driveway in amazement and too cool to kiss momma & daddy goodnight, when my bright sparkly amazing toddler girl has turned into a bright sparkly amazing teenager.