I am a chef and she, my sous. She sits on my hip as I stir. The smells of her favorite dish waft up to our noses and she insists that she hold the old wooden spoon. As it simmers, she sits on the opposite counter and decides which bowl will be her favorite today. The blue one wins. I put her down and she trots off to her high chair to taste the special of the day. Half the dish makes it to her mouth and half lands on the floor, but that toothy grin and claps of delight make this kitchen our favorite restaurant.
I am an audience and she, my prima donna. I sit by the wall and watch her dance unfold. She starts with a shake and continues with a twirl. I clap and smile and she runs into my lap. She shows off another smile and decides that I am captive enough for her next performance. Specific books are laid out until she finds the perfect one to read. She turns the pages and lets out a squeal and turns to me to flash another smile, waiting for mine in return. The living room is our stage and hers is my favorite show.
I am a contractor and she, my architect. We follow the blueprints of her creative mind. I provide the blocks, the crayons, and the stuffed animals and she creates masterpieces. She stacks and makes her next creation. She tests the balance of those square block. She carefully chooses the next color to swirl across the page. She hands me her designs. I accept them gratefully and wonder what she'll create next. Her next creation is on the horizon and my lap is her favorite studio.
I am a mom and she, my girl.