Yesterday, for reasons far too complicated and boring to explain, Mia and I drove out into semi-rural Virginia to visit a horse farm. I call it semi-rural because it is mostly farmland and vineyards with neighborhoods of million-plus dollar homes sprinkled throughout seemingly at random. Note for anyone who ever considers such a thing, before you move gobs of rich people out to the country, you really need to expand all those two-lane country roads, or everyone will spend hours a day sitting in traffic in their Hummers. Since I left early enough to miss the traffic, I just pointed and laughed.
The drive was nice. Mia behaved herself and had a great time mooing at the cows and baa-ing at the sheep and looking quizzically at the goats. She expressed an interest in taking a bath in every pond we passed and giggled at the pick-up trucks and silos. When we got to the farm, there were four or five dogs wandering around outside the barn, which thrilled her little soul and caused peals of amazing toddler laughter, while I broke into a sweat trying to make sure none of them were about to attack the defenseless child strapped to my back.
To find the friend I was looking for, we had to go into the horse barn. Have I mentioned that I hate horses? I know that I have, and every time I do someone tells me that I am a horrible person and horses are magnificent creatures and they are never reading my site again, so let me save you the trouble there and say 1) good riddance and 2) shove it because 3) I hate horses. Ok, so I'm weak-kneed, cry-like-a-baby terrified of horses. Same difference.
Mia loved the horses. Loved them so much that she told her Dada about them (several times) when he got home. And now I can see my future. Mia isn't going to rebel and break her mother's heart by being a cheerleader or entering beauty pageants or even turning Republican. No, Mia is going to ride horses, and I am going to have to smile and applaud and cheer without hiding under my car and sobbing.
Parenting is hard.