It is always her bedroom that has muffled sounds of mischief radiating from it long after the bedtime rituals are through.
She is the one singing her tune loud and unabashed as I desperately try to hear what my Mother-in-law is saying to me on the other end of the telephone line.
She is thunderous not only in voice but also in spirit. At any given moment her hair flows freely and untamed. And each time she glances in my direction her glinting eyes capture me with a knowing waywardness.
She is my wild child.
On any given day I can recount about a hundred times where I find myself pulling my hair out in accordance to her antics. Maybe she managed to lock the dog in the 1 X 1 square enclosure that is her dollhouse. Or perhaps she has divvied up her play dough and buried it in the many many remote places of her bedroom and is now calling it hidden treasure. The point is, usually, we live in chaos.
Just the other night I was writing this exact post. I sat propped up in my bed and looked across the hallway to where my daughter should have been sleeping. Instead of doing such however she was standing atop her princess sheets attempting to reach the shelf that hangs over where she lays her head.
“Sophie go to sleep- it is an hour past bedtime!” I say not even wondering what she is doing because at this point I cannot care to.
“I can’t until I lock up the beast!” She screams back at me. She sounds extremely put off that I would even question the very actions of her plight.
“Lay down!” I begin to get perturbed.
“BUT THE BEAST!!” She counters. You see this is the thing with the girl. She doesn’t relent. She doesn’t give in. If she finds herself in the midst of a quest- it is all- there is no nothing.
“Sophie this is ridiculous! It is getting too late to be screwing around.” And this is where we butt heads my daughter and I; because I do not enjoy relenting either.
The next thing I know a four year old is stomping her feet towards my bedroom while her hands are compressed into fists and she wears this scowl that is about to implode an adorableness computing device somewhere.
She parades right up to my bedside and looks me dead in the face and says, “Look Mama. Barry (her huge stuffed bear) has a pet beast. But he needs to be locked up at night because if he isn’t…” A pause- I’m assuming for dramatic effect. “Well, he’ll eat everyone in the house. And sorry- but his favorites are Moms.”
Well there it is. There is that pivotal line that comes discharging out of the kid’s mouth that makes me laugh and suddenly all is forgiven. She peruses back to her room, gets the beast in its cage and seconds after her head falls upon her pillow she is asleep.
She is my wild child.
She lives to push boundaries and play center stage. She is abrupt, forthright and utterly honest. It seems as though trouble follows her and around any corner I could find my Sophie in some sort of mind-boggling shenanigans.
Time and time again I’ve told myself, it’s just a stage- this too shall pass. But as I get to know my daughter more and more with each passing day I realize it is no stage- it is her.
She is free. She is free from the worries that many children have. She could care less what other people think of her. Her mind is of one in its own and does not seem to be easily swayed. She is strong in her resolve when it comes to anything at all.
And it is all of these things that make me realize that I cannot wish away these traits of hers. Yes it can be trying walking into your bathroom with a four year old covered in blush and sloppy mascara lines running down her face. And yeah sure, it is a little depressing when she tells me that she is better at doing her own hair because she likes it in 7 hair clips haphazardly positioned around her skull. The sheer ideas that float in and out of her head are pure genius and absolute absurdity all at the same time.
But when all is said and done- I am going to let her be her. I will embrace the unique human being she is and enjoy the beauty she creates in this world.
Because she is my wild child- and she is my daughter.