I brushed and combed Katie’s hair this morning. As usual, I was as gentle as I could be. As usual, she cried crocodile tears and screamed and whimpered and yelped her way through the ordeal. I know I was the exact same way when I was her age, and I remind myself of that the entire time I brush her hair. It’s the only thing that keeps me from being completely disgusted by her behavior.

This evening, after dinner, she asked me, “Mommy, when you had Mary, did you scream the way I did this morning when you brushed my hair?”

“When I had Mary it hurt much worse than having your hair brushed. I screamed much more than that.”

“Oh. Then I’m not having children because I don’t like to scream.”

This is fine for now. Should she get married, though, I’ll be sure to explain everything she needs to know about epidurals.