Little Big Kid

Madeline's been very concerned with the concept of "getting big" recently.  She randomly informs me that she's a big kid all the time.

Yesterday she was playing on the porch with her Little People.  I absently commented, "Oh, you're playing with your Little People, eh?"  to which she very seriously replied, "They're not little, Mumma.  They're big."

I tried to explain the concept of brand names to my two-year-old.

"No, but they're big kids," she told me when I was finished.  Her eyes were solemn and wide, begging me to accept their status as "big," and thereby important, people.

"Okay, baby.  They can be big."  I told her, and she went back to playing.

All the things our Maddie Bear wants to do, but can't, require her to be bigger.  She couldn't go on the Pirate Ship at the carnival because we told her it was for big kids.  She can't drive my car because her feet can't reach the pedals.  Yet, she asks to drive every day.  And there are a myriad of other small scrapes and scrambles she gets herself into on a daily basis because she's just still too little.  It's no wonder that she's currently obsessed with getting older.

Meanwhile, she's growing up a little too fast for my tastes.  Asking to drive my car?  Wanting to wear my makeup?  Dropping F bombs in my direction?  Where'd my baby go?  Good thing she's still wearing pull-ups, or she'd be telling me to get lost.    

Tonight she told me again, "Mumma, but I'm a big kid."
And I said, "Yes, you are a big kid.  I still think you're a little big kid though."
She paused.  "But...I'm gonna get big in a minute."

Yes, you are, Maddie Bear.  Yes, you are.