Key Issues

It Hurts!

Have I mentioned that I gave birth to a drama queen?

And this is not your garden-variety, driven-snow, blogworld drama, noooo.... This child knows drama in its purest and simplest form. The thin veil of mock maturity is not adopted in an effort to mute self-absorption.

She was four hours old as she thrashed and gasped in my arms, seven pounds of end-of-the-world frustration personified, because this lugnut creature holding her did not seem to get the emergence of the situation.

I was in the process of reaching into a convoluted gown in an attempt to uncover some nourishment for the child, but I had to take to a moment to smile lovingly at this little fireball, in appreciation for her first performance.

Of course I called her both a "drama queen," as well as "temper prone," but, as I mentioned, I did so smiling. And my aunt, the only one who had stayed through the long, sleepless night, rebuked me for my early labeling.

(Yeah, she took it back. Over and over again, in fact...each and every time she did any babysitting for me.)

My baby is now nine. And now she seeks the performance, would. just. die. if she missed American Idol, learns and repeats lines from her favorite sit-coms, and draws a SHARP intake of breath over everything from anxiety over spilt milk to excitement over the discovery of a new fruit roll up flavor.

And tonight... as I tucked this precious Priss into her bed, and hugged her, she began what I call a "spaz attack" level of squirminess, and exclaimed, "It hurts! Mom! Oooohhhh! It HURTS! It sooooo hurts..." then quietly, giving into the inevitable agony, "Uh, the loooove, Oh. it. hurts..."

She wants acting classes. Maybe I should cave on this one.