Mazzy is four-years-old. Four and a half, she likes to remind me. Every day she is doing things that surprise me, scare me and make me realize my little girl is growing up fast.

In September, Mazzy will be going to kindergarten. Something I haven’t quite processed yet. When people ask how Mazzy feels about going to kindergarten, I always say Mazzy doesn’t really understand what kindergarten means. But the truth is, I don’t think I really understand what’s about to happen either.

This summer, Mazzy is in a camp with kids who are 4-6 years old. After her first day, she told me she wanted to go to McDonald’s to buy a happy meal. As odd as it may seem, I have never introduced her to the concept of McDonald’s. Living in Manhattan, we never have a reason to eat fast food. There are tons of cheap food options around us that I assume are a lot healthier. But Mazzy found out from her new friends at school that you can get a meal with a toy included and she now thinks I’ve been depriving her of the finer things in life.

Later that same day, Mazzy asked me to play. This usually means she wants to reenact scenes from Frozen.

ME: Frozen?


ME: House?


ME: What then?



ME: Do you even know what a vampire is?


ME: They suck your blood.


That’s what she said— “Oh my god.”

This was after ONE DAY around five and six-year-olds.

This past weekend, Mazzy went on her first sleepover. It was a sleepover that was forced upon me because I arrived into a conversation two seconds too late and became “the deciding vote”.

FYI- “The Deciding Vote” is code for “in this one word response you will have solidified yourself as your child’s hero or her arch nemesis— it’s up to you!”

I went with hero. I’m weak like that. Then I used the threat of “taking away the sleepover” for the next three hours until it was time to drop her off. (If we had planned the sleepover ahead of time, I could have used that ace in the hole for a solid week.)


Mazzy was beyond excited to go over her friend’s house and I knew without a doubt she would be fine. When her friend’s parents texted us pictures of them having fun— watching Tangled, getting into bed, making pancakes the next morning— my one regret was that I was not there to experience it with her.

Of course, sleepovers aren’t exactly sleepovers when your mom sleeps over too.

It was a similar feeling to when Mazzy was the flower girl at her Uncle’s wedding last week. She had to stay in the suite with the bridal party while I waited for her to walk down the aisle with everybody else. That must have felt pretty significant to her, yet I didn’t get to see it.

Have you heard of FOMO? That stands for “fear of missing out”. I think I have the parental verison of that. FOBELWY? “Fear of baby enjoying life without you”. (Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.)

It’s the same reason I didn’t want Mazzy’s nanny to ake her to the zoo for the first time while I was at work. Or why I denied her the pleasure of seeing Sesame Street Live with Grammy until I was available to go too.

But these were experiences when she was little and now she is growing up. She should be experiencing more on her own. She should be learning things from people other than their parents. And this all comes with influences you can’t control. Like her introduction to Big Macs and vampires.

To make myself feel better, I’ve started focusing on things Mazzy does that make it clear she is still a little kid.

Like how she now uses the phrase “OH MY GOD” about things that clearly don’t warrant it. For instance, I’ll be reading her a book she’s read a thousand times and Mazzy will say “OH MY GOD” after every sentence.

ME: My hair was the color of raspberry sorbet.


ME: I cried because I was so beautiful.


ME: I even cried pink tears.


I hardly think the plot of Pinkalicious is filled with OMG moments. Especially when Mazzy can recite the book by heart.

On Saturday, we were swimming at a friend’s pool. Her friend jumped into the far end of the pool (he can swim) and screamed, “Look at me, I’m in the deep end!”

A few minutes later, Mazzy paddled her way over in her floaties, stuck her foot past the rope divider and then quickly paddled back. Then she whispered something just for me.

“Mom. I went into the DEEP DEN!”

She was so proud I couldn’t correct her. I said, “Good job!” while thinking, “My baby still needs me.”

Last night, Mazzy started going on about how gross it is to eat a lobster. I decided to test her.

ME: Do you eat cows?


ME: Meat is from cows, you know.

Mazzy looked at me like she was dealing with the biggest idiot on earth.

MAZZY: No, it’s not, Mom. MILK is from COWS!!!!”

ME: You’re right. Milk is from cows. Do you eat chickens?

MAZZY: Yes, Mom, OF COURSE. Chicken are chickens! I eat chicken!

ME: That’s right, chicken are chickens.

Hmmm…. maybe she’s smarter than I thought?

MAZZY: But I eat the FOOD chicken, Mom, not the ANIMAL chicken!

I will never correct her.

Someone will have to tell her in kindergarten.