It's an odd thing, this mother-daughter relationship.
Tom has always said that he doesn't understand the jealousy involved in the mother-daughter dynamic. I always told him he was smoking crack. I wasn't jealous of my daughters - I was proud of them, and happy for them - but never jealous. They certainly weren't jealous of me.
And then a pair of shoes brought it all crashing down unexpectedly on my head.
Lea bought the cutest shoes this weekend. She knew I'd love them and she knew I'd say yes. She also knew the first words out of my mouth would be, "did they have my size?" Before she could even jog off to check, though, I told her "never mind." Why? Because it's not my turn. There is not a single aspect of my life that cannot be properly accommodated by shoes already in my possession.
It's not my turn. It's her turn. Her turn to wear cute shoes and cute clothes. Her turn to go to the movies and giggle with friends and talk about cute boys. Her turn to dream about dances and what her life will be like when she's grown. It's her turn. I had my turn. My turn is over. It's her turn.
And I'm sorry - I mean, I really really am - but I do find myself a little jealous. I hadn't planned on being such a cliche. But I wasn't done with this ride yet. I don't want to go to the back of the line. I'm not ready.
Which is not to say that I don't want her to have her turn - I do! I most sincerely do! But can't we ride the ride together? Why does the beginning of her turn have to mean the end of mine?
Because it just does. I should've gotten off this ride years ago, anyway. I can go get on a different ride, I suppose. One where the shoes and clothes are more practical than cute. One that moves a little slower. One that doesn't have as many restrictions about who should and shouldn't ride. I'd be more comfortable there, anyway. I know this.
I just don't want to.