I kid you not.

Her favorite thing to do is to combine her love of climbing with her desire to be the center of attention. Picture this: in our eat-in-kitchen Maggie hoists herself up on the bench seat (which is fantastic for storage! Thanks Dad!). She likes to run around on the bench, what kid doesn’t? Remember all those restaurant trips as a kid when you asked your parents to get a bench table? I sure do!

But then one morning she skitters (she’s quick, it’s an appropriate word choice) up on the table top. Instead of looking sheepish when I glare at her like any self-respecting toddler caught in the act, she tilts her head to the side and smiles. I am telling her to get down, reminding her that its dangerous and she could fall and get a boo boo- and something happens, it’s like the mention of danger ignited some almost pathological love for trouble. She claps her hands and stomps her feet and giggles- all while standing on the table. And then this happens:

She puts her arms out like she’s surfing and starts pretending to stumble back and forth yelling “Woah! Woooaaah!”

So I grab her and put her on the ground. “No, no, Maggie. Be careful. That’s dangerous.”

As soon as I turn around she has climbed back up, but now she’s yelling “Gak!” “Henee!” and pretending to fall off the table again. Maybe because I’m a bad mom, or maybe my curiosity just gets the best of me so I lean back against the kitchen counter, cross my arms, and watch. Sure enough Jack and Henry come running screaming “Maggie, I’ll save you!” She takes turns letting them lift her down, climbing up again and again. Each time she puts her arms out and yells “Woah!” and “Oh no!”

Now? She does this everywhere. In her crib. On the couch. On the trunk of dress-up clothes.

Honestly I don’t know how I feel about her little stunt. I’m ashamed to admit I’m proud she has figured out how to manipulate her older brothers already- and I’m completely horrified thinking about what it could mean for her future as a sociopath (kidding, not kidding, sort of). As a feminist she shouldn’t want to be saved? She should kick ass and take names. As a 19month old, I’m impressed at her ability to play pretend. And do I really want to raise boys who think women need to be rescued? How can I raise them to be feminists if they have white-knight syndrome? Am I over thinking this? Darn right I am. Over-thinking is what I do. At least I can say with certainty that there is rarely a dull moment in this house.

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