Picky

My mom, on occasion, will tell the following story about me:

When I was about a year old, my mom and my aunt took me to the shoe store to get me a pair of shoes. Now, do you remember those white baby shoes that everybody used to have? The kind of lace-up high-tops? Yeah. I wasn't having those. Every time they tried to put sensible baby shoes on my foot, I would point my toes so that it was impossible to put the shoe on my foot. They tried over and over again, and decided that maybe I was just adverse to wearing shoes, which isn't the worst thing, I guess.

Then they set me down and let me walk around by myself. I beelined straight for the black patent leather mary janes, grabbed one off the shelf, and put it on my foot. It wasn't that I didn't like shoes, it was that I didn't like the white shoes. I wanted fancy shoes.

Needless to say, I ended up with both pairs, and would sometimes submit to the white shoes, but mostly wore the black patent leather mary janes. I had good taste and didn't want to compromise.

Or I was picky.

Gabbie has this same sense of knowing exactly what she wants and not having it any other way. It's adorable that she is so much like me, but aggravating at the same time. Especially for Aaron, who regularly blames me when Gabbie won't do what he wants her to do. Like sleep in her bed. She slept exactly 1 minute in her bed last night. 1 MINUTE! I'm beginning to forget what it's like to share my bed with Aaron, since we never sleep in it at the same time these days. Maybe she just wants a fancier bed? I'm hoping that's the case because we are bringing a very fancy bed home for her this Saturday. Please, oh please! Let this work!