Friday, December 31, 2004


My daughter (I should really come up with a clever nickname for her, but all that comes to mind right now is "The Girl") forms instant attachments to all kinds of things. We'll be walking in from the car, she'll bend over to pick up a stick, and I'll say something insufferably parental like, "Put the stick down and let's go in the house." At which point she'll turn to me with this horrified expression on her face and say, "But Sticky wants to come in with me! He'll miss me if I leave him outside!"

At which point, one of two things will happen. Either I'll stick to my guns, and we escalate the thing to an Official Incident which ends with her crying and Sticky lying forlorn on the ground outside, or else I'll relent and Sticky will come inside. If he's lucky, Sticky will be quickly forgotten; more likely, he'll end up broken into tiny fragments and scattered across the carpet. Sticky, Flowery, Leafy, Rocky, Buggy: they all start out as instant best friends and usually end up either abandoned or destroyed (I could say something about this being the way most women approach relationships as well, only I guess guys aren't any better, plus, dude, she's four).

I just dread the day she decides she can't live without her friend Poopy. Before I had a daughter of my own, I wouldn't have seriously thought this possible, but now, I totally do.

I know I'm supposed to treasure every moment, but boy, I hope she gets past this phase soon.

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