As this December creeps up, I'm quite scared of my looming 30th birthday. I have 6 more months to actually be in my 20s, then I'm officially a dinosaur. At least in the eyes of my five-year-old, anyway.
I look at her simple life that she leads, and how anxious she is to grow up and be a big person, and I must say there's a tiny bit of irony. I mean, think about how tough it must be to have to come home, eat a meal that's prepared at your demands, watch "Wonder Pets," drink chocolate milk, play outside with a big fluffy dog that all the other kids are scared of, run around in the sprinklers with your swimsuit on, then take a bath in a magical spaceship filled with your favorite plastic toys (who can transform into anything), and end your evening by falling asleep atop a beautiful princess castle bed that has a slide attached? Whew, she must have it rough. Poor kid.
And who can forget the daily routine of roughhousing, tickling each other and getting smothered in Mommy kisses? What a hard life she leads...
If only I could be five again...
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