This morning after sending you off, I stomped inside the house and sat at our kitchen island massaging my temples trying to ward off the headache that has been threatening me since morning. The image of you hands on your hips, sticking your tongue at me kept playing in my head. You mirrored my stance. Except for the tongue sticking part.
I play it over in my head. I get it. You are your daddy’s girl. You always will be. I know how that works. I was one too. Yet, what my head understands my heart is struggling with. I watch you shrug off my hands and seek out your dad’s. I try to take it in my stride. When you refuse to let me help with your coat or your shoes, I feel a little beaten. Rejection stings you know?
I expend my frustration from the morning on the sink. Then I fold three rounds of laundry. I turn the radio on and let the music wash over me. The tension in my bunched up shoulders slowly eases. I even smile. I relive my little outburst and laugh. Laugh out loud. You and I. We are not very different are we?
You bring out the child in me. Not always in a good way. When I feel miffed that you do not want to be my friend, I sulk. Now that a good part of the morning is behind me. I feel a little better. Next time this happens, you watch out missy. Amma is as good at sticking my tongue out as you are.
And I think I will always be your friend. Even if you do not want to be.