When I was growing up, I fondly remember claiming all of my mother’s belongings as my own. I’d try on her shirts and sweaters. I would put on her jewelry every time I was able to get my hands on them (and occasionally, much to her anger, would break some pieces…). I’d walk around with her high heels (and then subsequently fell down the stairs that way). I even got into her bathroom cabinet and applied her face cream. She drew the line, though, when I attempted to apply her eyeshadow and lipstick: she did NOT want me putting anything on my face. I did all these things before the age of 5. Like most little kids, I loved the idea of “playing grown-up.” The world of grown-ups, from a child’s perspective, is truly riveting and endlessly exciting, full of possibilities. So it’s no wonder that Kaia shows all of these same desires every time she sees Chris and me do anything she knows she’s not supposed to do.

She will oftentimes ask if she can drink some of our coffee or tea. She always tries to put on my shoes and has recently attempted to put on my hoodies and socks. Instead of playing with her own play pots, she will want to play with my real pots. She knows that when I put sunblock on her that I have my own sunblock, and so she’s asked to use mine (and I usually say no). She has recently asked if she could wear my earrings, but I told her she can’t (yet) because she doesn’t have her ears pierced. She loves to twirl them around in her hand and play with them while they’re dangling from my ears. The rare times she gets her hands on my phone or Kindle, she says that these items are hers.

And perhaps the most frustrating (and cute) thing she has been doing lately is that at some point in the middle of the night, she will creep over from her bed onto ours. I will try to set up a pillow for her at the foot of the bed, but she will consistently refuse. Instead, she will insist that she sleeps right in the middle of MY pillow on my side of the bed. And she knows exactly what she’s doing: she will have this huge grin on her face as she looks up at me, sleepy eyed staring back at her. I have to fight her for my pillow and side of the bed. Sometimes she will stage a protest and try to sit up and not sleep. Or, she will run to the couch and just sit there and wait for me to get her. Chris always wakes up and lays down the law, though: she either has to sleep at the foot of the bed between us, or “you have to go back to Hoji’s bed,” he admonishes her. She usually listens to this and then acquiesces, placing her head on the pillow at the foot of the bed and minutes later, passing out.