Earlier this week, my four year old darted away from the lunch table while
my back was turned. Not only did I hear the swishing of wind made from
her hasty escape, but I noted a flash of pink into the dining room from my
extreme peripheral vision. Without turning around I calmly stated, "Avalon,
come back to the table and finish your food."
"How did you know where I was!?" she asked in amazement.
A scene from my childhood sparked in the recesses of my brain. "Don't
you know that mommies have eyes in the backs of their heads?"
If it was possible for her eyes to grow wider, they did. "How did you get
them, Mommy? When did you get them?"
I could literally see her logical young mind trying to make sense of my
claim. "I got them when I became a mommy. You won't have eyes in the
back of your head until you become a mommy." She accepted the explanation
without further questioning, a rarity, and returned to the table as instructed.
Today I stepped away from the kitchen for some reason and upon returning,
again she was nowhere to be seen. "Avalon, come back and finish your milk."
Instead of the much desired, "Yes, Mother," I heard a creeping then a lunge
onto a love seat, the back of which faces the kitchen. I leaned over the couch,
and spied a disappointed face.
"How did you know I was here?" her voice a bit exasperated.
"I heard you. Don't you know mommies have super hearing?" This time no
Now in writing this, I think I may know why she wants to be a mommy and
"only a mommy" when she grows up. Obviously, mommies have superhuman
abilities that other people are not fortunate enough to develop. Who wants
to go to a job all day when you can have super hearing, extra eyes that permit
you to see everything, and not to mention an unnerving ability to sense when
someone is not telling the truth?
She'll be amazing no matter what she does in the future. Along with being
proficient in whatever profession she chooses, I know she'll be an excellent