My daughter turned eight yesterday and even though I am not the sentimental kind, saying “I have a seven year old” somehow sounds radically different to me than, “I have an 8 year old.” Seven connotes little girlness, friendship bracelets and American Girl dolls, lack of self consciousness and laughter. Seven year old girls love to play with their little brothers and mothers, and will make a game out of practically anything. Eight year olds? Eight year olds go off to sleepaway camp, learn how to sail, and, if last night’s at all representative, make art that’s sufficiently decent so as to necessitate their feeling the need to compliment the (not particularly decent) art of their mothers. “I like yours best,” she tells me. “You’re amazing,” she persists, a too big grin spreading across her face. Only eight for one day and already she’s being ironic.
Posted on: Thu, 07 Aug 2014 02:06:47 +0000
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