Today she wants to be a princess.

A real one. As a profession.

Yesterday she wanted to be a doctor. Or a dentist/doctor. If there is such a thing.

This morning she told me she wanted to be a mommy when she grows up.

And she practices being a teacher when she plays with her friends, grouping everyone into student groups and telling them how to spell her name.

And when she’s all done playing grown-up, after the coming-in-from-outside arguments, after the please-cut-the-crusts-off-Mama requests, and after the I-want-to-butter-my-own-toast pleas, she doesn’t want to be a princess anymore.

Or a dentist, or a doctor, or even a mommy or a teacher. Her independent streak (that I swear she gets from her father) is gone, lost in a puddle on the floor next to the spot of her last tantrum, and she just wants to be held.

She’s all done playing grown-up and she wants to be my baby again. Even if only for a few minutes.