Yesterday I was standing in the bathroom while Lola was sitting on the potty, and she looked at me and said, “You’re kind of old.” What the!?
And the kicker was, she may have actually meant it as an insult. We’ve been having a recurrence of the dreaded poop accidents lately (which is literally the most frustrating thing ever!!!! Send help!), so I had put her on the potty and told her she was gonna sit there till she pooped in it. She was not a happy camper, and so as I was minding my business cleaning the sink or something, she told me I was old. Well, KIND OF old. I mean, I’m thirty, I’m not walking around with hard candies and balled up kleenexes in my pocket yet.
Now, PROBABLY she was just making an observation, not intended to insult. Because I’d hate to think of where she picked up the idea that “old” is a great insult; she’s three. And there is a precedence there, when I was pregnant, she once told me I was as big as a house. Which was totally true, though, whereas the old thing isn’t. I work in a hospital. Old is relative.
The real shining moment in this exchange was my reply. When she told me I was kind of old, I told her she was kind of a pain in the ass. WHO DOES THAT!? Little tip, don’t go toe to toe with your three year old when you’re supposed to be a grown up. In my defense, SHE WON’T STOP POOPING IN HER PANTS!
Later, when she was doing water colors at the kitchen table, she said, “I’m going to paint Corbin. I’m gonna make a big head.” Have I mentioned he has an unusually large noggin? I should probably stop talking about it out loud.
Because Lola, she can’t help it, she must speak her truths. I’m going to get so busted.