My arm and my leg. My very last dollar and my very last nerve. These are things that I would gladly hand over for my daughter. But my generosity has limits. There are certain things that I just will not share.
My french fries: I love my McDonald’s french fries like nobody’s business. I giggled the first time my daughter ate a fry and moaned with delight. I agree that she should have been eating green beans but that’s just not always my reality. The next time she squealed and waved her hands in anticipation of more fries. Attempts to cut her off brought on angry screeches. I had created a deep fried monster, not to mention the number of fries I was losing out on. I have forgotten the taste of naughty foods when there are no little hands and big brown eyes to make me feel bad. Sometimes I try not to eat fries in front of her. Most times I bank on her dad throwing her a couple so that I can keep mine for myself.
My stuffed animals: I do not have a fleet of stuffed animals across my bed like some pre-adolescent. I only have a few, which I believe is still a respectable number for a woman my age. Clementine and The Bride and Groom, gifts from my husband and family respectively, are special to me. Watching my daughter drag them across the windowsill and chew on their ears is not cute at all. Sometimes I think I should just let her have her way with my stuffed buddies. Then I look at her toy chest. I have three. She has countless. Clementine and crew are going into the witness protection program.
My side of the bed: I can never figure out if the side of bed is determined when you are sitting in the bed or when you are facing the bed. Either way, I have my designated spot. My husband has his. Until recently my daughter enjoyed the middle while we watched TV or pretended to read books. She has suddenly taken an interest in the outside of the bed. Sometimes she climbs over me and forces me towards the middle because I am trying to keep her from crashing to the floor. I won’t stand for this. The middle of the bed is like the middle seat on a plane. No fun at all and to be avoided at all cost.
I’m not selfish. Holding onto a few things is great for my sanity; and that is one of the best gifts I can give my daughter.
What goes on your Do Not Share List?