It seems that one morning I woke up to find myself the parent of a walking, talking, independence-exerting toddler. I don't know what happened between delivery and now but it appears to have passed me by. One day I was in charge of what she was wearing, eating, doing - now she's telling me that she wants to wear that pretty dress and that these shoes match...that she'll have fish and chips for dinner, with a slice of lemon no less and that she would prefer to do some collage and glueing at this point in time.
I am beginning to feel obsolete in this relationship.
I suppose that is a symptom of a parenting style that promotes independence, curiosity, a love for learning and a strong identity...leading me to the conclusion that I only have myself to blame. I firmly believe that parenting is genetic. The blue print of my own chromosomes, laid down all those years ago, echo in my conscience. Don't be afraid to have dreams, values and convictions. But more importantly, believe in them.
It did bring a wry smile to my face though, the day I heard Paul mumble under his breathe while shaking his head and walking away, 'I married a bloody independent woman, now I've bred one'...but you know what...he wouldn't have it any other way!
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