My daughter can take a selfie much better than I can. The other day I picked up my phone and had 25 new photos of her that I did not take. She took them all by herself with her itty bitty hands. She didn’t even need a selfie stick.
She has no fear, no shame, no concern for food in her teeth or wrinkles around her eyes. She doesn’t care about her hair or her eyebrows or even if she gets her entire face in the shot. She only cares about being awesome so she is awesome. Totally.
Once again my technology skills have been minimized by a child who cannot even write her own name. I’m dreading the day she changes all of my ringtones and reconfigures my text messages in ways I cannot even begin to fathom. I thought I was so hip with my blog and social media prowess and now I just feel like a technological dinosaur.
My daughter is the Apple Watch and I am Atari. She is fearless and confident and I am cautious and more cautious with extra caution. She looks gorgeous without even trying and I need a visit by a cosmetic genius and an old-lady lighting crew (the kind that makes you look like you are in a permanent movie dream sequence). Phew, this being a grown up thing is getting harder and harder. I’m starting to truly hate the words “mature woman” and since I am turning 40 in a few days I’m feeling especially vulnerable. In between trying not to look out of date I also have to not become outdated. Meanwhile, this five-year old girl is already racing past me in every way I can imagine.
The only thing left for me to do is to prevent her from doing something crazy…like starting her own blog where she writes about her aging mother and shares the really bad selfies her mother takes…even after years of practice. It won’t be long before she figures out how to use WordPress, or Blogger, or Blog Creator Unlimited (yet to be invented) and starts telling the world stories in her own words and from her own, unique perspective. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified. I mean, if she starts documenting our lives you’ll likely see me in my mismatched pajamas and sticking up hair and really bad decision-making ( especially when it comes to whether or not dessert is appropriate after breakfast). I see the future and the future is bleak…Motherhood EXPOSED.
What’s that saying? Pay back’s a witch (or something along those lines). It won’t be long before I have to take a dose of my own tell-all medicine. I’m not sure I’m going to be prepared for that or like it.
How about you?