My daughter Rumi Li is a very talkative, precocious two year-old, who is obsessed with being “bigger.” “When I get bigger, I’ll type.” That’s how it started. She said this every time she saw us typing –or anyone typing for that matter. Then it began to grow.
“When I get bigger, I’ll drive.”
“Yes, Rumi, when you are bigger you can drive.”
“When I get bigger, I’m going to wear a bra just like you –a blue bra.”
“My bras are white, because they don’t make them pretty in my size, Rumi, but you can probably have a nice blue bra.”
“When I get bigger, I will take a shower just like you and daddy. But now, I take a bath.”
“You’re right, Rumi, when you get bigger, you can take a shower.”
“When I get bigger, I can wear lip gloss.”
“When I get bigger, I’ll go to the school with all the kids.” She might be shocked when she finds out she will be home-schooled even though I”ve tried to explain it to her, and so far, she thinks it’s a good idea.
“When I get bigger, I will eat beef and drink coffee.”
“Ok, Rumi, when you get bigger you can eat beef and drink coffee if you wwant.”
“When I get bigger I can have an iPod, and I can listen to music.”
“When you get bigger Rumi, they will probably have better things than iPods.”
“When I get bigger,” She said once during a documentary, “Can I go to faraway places like Thailand like mama?”
“Sure Rumi, but you probably should take me with you.”
Then things started to get more complex.
“When I get bigger, and I can read, I can play Anais’ games.”
“You are right Rumi, but Rumi, you have to be big enough to wear underwear. Can we work on that first?”
“Ok, but when I get bigger, and I wear underwear, I’m going to type.”