>Motherhood. The Ride of My Life.

>I had one of those moments yesterday that makes my job worthwhile.

A friend of mine and her daughter had joined Punky and me at the museum, and her 4-year-old was telling us what she was going to do when she grew up.

“What are you going to be when you grow up, Punky?” I asked my daughter when her friend was done talking. She thought for a moment.

“I’m going to be a writer,” she said very seriously. My friend clucked admiringly and my heart swelled with pride. I had never talked with Punky about being a writer before; obviously, she had simply been paying close attention to what I was doing when I wasn’t busy making her lunches or reading her books or changing her brother’s diapers or pretending to be Rudolph while she pretended to be Santa. Wow.

Fast forward to this morning. We were cuddling on the sofa when Punky began talking about what would happen when she gets big, as she puts it.

“You can be a mommy, if you want to.” I told her. “And you can be a writer like me, too.”

She looked at me, confused. “A writer?” she said.

“Remember yesterday, you said you wanted to be a writer when you grow up?” I prodded.

“But you don’t ride horses!” she said.

Oh, smack.