Of my three kids, I can already tell that Annie is going to be the clingiest one. She just really needs her mama, and she needs her a lot. If I am honest, the reason that she needs me so much is that she needs someone to talk to. Constantly. Because Annie likes to talk. And I mean a lot. There is nothing that makes Annie happier than asking “why” and then answering her own question in about twenty different ways in about twenty seconds.
Honestly, I do love talking to her although sometimes, like when we are trying to get out the door, I find myself telling her to be quiet so Mommy can think. And sometimes it can be a bit tough on Danny, who is at risk of developing a stutter for how much he is interrupted. At the dinner table, in the car, in the bath, it doesn’t matter. If Danny has a good idea, Annie has a better one. If Danny has a booboo, Annie falls down too. You get the picture. Classic little sister stuff.
But strangely enough Annie tends to clam up at birthday parties (as I have noted before, she also tends to have accidents, a problem which no longer happens since I started having her wear Pull-Ups to parties—now, suddenly, we are in the bathroom 27 times whether we need to be or not). She’s a social butterfly at the park and she never stops talking at dance class. But when we go to one of Danny’s friends’ parties, she simply won’t play with anyone but Mommy.
This past week one of Danny’s best buddies had a party at Pump It Up, the mecca of bouncy houses. And before I could say hello to any of my friends, Annie had me by the arm and bouncing away. Now, mind you, it isn’t too hard to get me into a bouncy house. I frankly love to bounce and pride myself on being able to bounce and land in a sitting position (although I can’t then bounce back to standing but, really, who wants to anyways). But I must admit that about 45 minutes in, I was looking a bit longingly through the netting at all of my friends, who were sitting and happily gabbing away. I even tried to escape, telling Annie I had to check something in my purse. But Annie’s no dope. She came right around to check with me.
Then, something clicked at about the hour mark. I realized how lucky I was that my little girl still wanted to hold my hand. How lucky I am that I am still her best girlfriend—and, as she notes herself, she does have a lot. I started listening to her sweet little voice, really feeling her chubby little fingers reaching up to play with my hair. And I finally started to really have fun.
Because I know from experience that soon, once she starts school in the fall, she’ll have friends of her own and, like Danny, she might pop by and give me a hug or a kiss but she’ll be busy playing games with her new best friends. And, horror of horrors, just like Danny did this year, she’ll refuse to wear any “I love Mom” shirts or paraphernalia, likely claiming like Danny that such clothes “are good for the weekends.”
So, I am going to bounce like crazy while I can. I am going to have tea parties and play princesses until the sun goes down. And I am going to listen to every silly, often incoherent word that my sweet Annie babbles in my ear.
Because that’s what best girlfriends do. I am still hers.
And she will always be mine.
