"Can I have painting, too?" Buttercup's voice is as hopeful as her voice.
My mom and sister have taken Buttercup with them to the library and have stopped at the salon for a pick-me-up while I am home writing. My Blackberry buzzes now with an incoming text message.
It's my sister, Pati.
"Can Buttercup get a pedicure? Just lotion and color?"
I smile, sad for just a moment I am not there to see my little girl get her first big girl pedi.
"Sure," I write back. "Let her have fun."
And she does.
The color is a sheer pink, almost unnoticeable. But in her eyes, her little piggies are a shining beacon, signaling her new status as an almost-three-year-old.
Go ahead and ask her . I do every night.
"Are you still Mama's baby?"
"No," she says. "I'm a big girl now."
Now pardon me while I go cry into a pint of Ben and Jerry's.
My baby isn't a baby anymore.