Molasses

My daughter makes molasses seem like weeds. She is so slow that we have to always tack on an extra half hour whenever we need to get anywhere. It drives me crazy! At the ripe old age of 4, she already takes at least a half hour in the bathroom every morning. She takes her time getting her toothbrush, neatly placing her toothpaste on the brush, wetting it, positioning it on the side of the sink, shutting off the water, brushing, spitting out, repositioning her toothbrush on the side of the sink, turning on the water again, cleaning out the sink, shutting off the water and brushing again. You get the picture. And don’t you dare try to rush her— it will only tack on another ten minutes of arguing and denial. “I am hurrying. Mom, please leave me alone. I am doing it.” Summoning all of my patience, I offer some help. “No, Mom, I am big,” my daughter says refusing my assistance. “I can do it by myself.”

Though I love her independence, I cannot endure another day of running around and rushing. Before long, my child will master putting on her socks, zippering her jacket and buckling herself into her car seat. I will keep waiting and let her perfect her techniques while I mutter under my breath. My little girl will someday be a young woman who will spend hours in the bathroom applying makeup and primping her hair. So for now I wait, not in anticipation for what is to come but perhaps to hold on to innocence and immaturity.