Karis cuddled in my bed beside me. She ran her fingers through my hair. And she said, "Mommy. You so pwetty! You so you-tee-ful, Mommy!"
Four is easily my favorite age for my girl so far. Not because she compliments me. I know she only said that because she hears it from me all.the.time. Four is just ... she's turning into a little girl. She's developing her own little personality all while still wanting to be a whole lot just like her mommy.
It's flattering and humbling and a little scary.
I never wear my hair in a traditional ponytail. When I pull it up, I tuck the longer hair through and sport a little "poof" type thing (so sorry, so not up on the latest hair trend related words.) She now wants her hair done just like that a majority of the time.
She wants to wear my clothes and my shoes and when I'm putting on makeup I have to do a cursory swipe over her face. She doesn't want to leave the house without lip gloss.
She claims she loves iced "copy" (coffee) and insists on sips of Coke Zero because, you know, if Mommy likes it then she's going to like it too.
But she's also ... she's Karis. She has her own district personality and likes and dislikes. And sometimes it can drive me crazy but mostly it just makes me all warm and fuzzy to watch her becoming who she is. To wonder if who she is at four -- nurturing and sweet and always the first to comfort someone -- is a glimpse of the person she'll one day grow up to be. Who knows.
Right now we're just (mostly*) loving the Fours.
* Mostly because you KNOW the asshole moments abound. Like waking up at 5:15 this morning and poking me in the face until I agrees to turn Spongebob on.