My daughter snagged herself some twin husbands that are twice her age. I mean, she’s three and the boys are six and they were really just playing house at the playground, but the point was that she would tell them “come wif me,” and they would, following her around and completing her demanding “honey do” lists for a solid thirty minutes until their mom dragged them home. Upon reflection, I realized that 1) I could learn a lot from her, and 2) I need to pray more specifically for her future husband. My daughter is her daddy made over, and that means we’re navigating through some tricky waters we call “bossiness” or when we’re in a better mood, “leadership skills.” I love her for all the reasons I love her daddy: she’s decisive, she speaks her mind, and she doesn’t get swept away in the opinions of others, three things I happen to be terrible at. So yeah, we marry our opposites and then give birth to our opposites and it’s all a little confusing to navigate.

For example, if you ask me how a dress looks, I am physically unable to say something more negative than “I might perhaps maybe like things you already own one percent better, but if you like it, I like it, too.” Adelaide however, recently told me in a fitting room, “I don’t wike it. You need a ‘noder one.” She’s right of course, but did she have to say that DIRECTLY TO MY ACTUAL FACE WHILE SNACKING ON THE AUNTIE ANN’S PRETZEL I’D JUST BOUGHT HER LIKE THE SAINT MOTHER THAT I AM? Just kidding, I wasn’t mad, but it is fun to pretend to be offended by a three year old. I’m resilient to it because Daddy Luke does the same thing. I asked him once if a new hair style looked like I was trying too hard, and he said, “You never try hard.” And again he’s right, BUT DID HE HAVE TO SAY THAT DIRECTLY TO MY ACTUAL MAKEUP-LESS FACE AND WRINKLY T-SHIRT? It’s important for me to have things like this to rage about because I love typing in all caps. These truth-tellers man, they are a piece of work, and they will save me from many bad outfits, or at least they will try to.

As would follow, we’re pretty sure that our second child, Greer, is a lot like me, so I suppose he and I will just tell ill-timed jokes to diffuse tension and tiptoe around conflict like little anxious acrobats. He will be bad at this because his balance has always been a pretty significant problem due to the profound head-belly rotundness that presents itself in toddler oatmeal aficionados. In fact, during the same playground outing in which Adelaide snagged her twin husbands, a friend recognized Greer by his inevitable topple upon his entrance the playground. “I recognize that fall,” she said, which means not only does he fall a lot, but I document and share these mishaps a bit too thoroughly. He and I will probably have lots and lots of fun together forever, falling down and making fun of ourselves lest anyone feel any negative feelings, ever. OH YOU’RE SAD? LOOK! I CAN JUGGLE!

Certainly, these children have ninja-ed in and out of several personalities thus far in their short lives, so I imagine the currently prevailing diagnoses will not last long. Who can predict the plot twists that await? They will shimmy out of some traits like a skin-shedding snake, but one thing I know for certain: they will forever be unfailingly honest mirrors of their parents. About a million times in my adult life, I’ve realized that I’m accidentally acting exactly like one of my parents, and if you don't believe me, please speak with “Lisa Harris” from a fake debt collection agency, because I took a cue from Mr. Phil Powers and TOLD HER WHAT’S UP. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll buy five pairs of “awesome pants” from Eddie Bauer and speak about them with an unmatched passion.

The point to all this, if there could possibly be one, is that if you want to become a parent, proceed with caution. You will likely end up having to figure out how to parent tiny versions of yourself or your spouse while realizing that you’re acting exactly like your parents, and it’s basically Inception meets Freaky Friday meets lots of laundry. It’s sort of like that experience of seeing a million of the same reflection when you use a hand mirror to look at the back of your hair in the bathroom mirror. Kids talk the way we talk (which is probably like our parents), they react the way we react (which is probably like our parents), and if we sneak a cookie, THEY WILL ALSO REQUIRE A COOKIE, and if the grandparents come by, they’re most definitely getting a cookie, but you know we’ll give their kids cookies someday, too. Mirrors, I tell you, mirrors.