Me Want Hair

I'm sitting caddy corner to Gi at the dinner table, both of us eating our breakfast. We are chatting, the two of us still in our chosen form of pajamas. My choice happens to be a beat-up old tank top and my customary drawers aka frumpy mom-wear 101. Our daily topic of growing up tall and strong comes up as usual to Gi's delight. She squeals something unintelligible at first so I ask her to repeat it. She points her tiny index finger to the right side of my body and bellows something again. Too embarrassed to show my daughter that I still can't comprehend fully what she is saying to me I cheerfully look behind me at the armoir and asks her if she wants something from the inside of it. Not deterred by my linguistic inapptitude, she merrily hollers and points again. This time I notice that she is pointing at my upper right arm (not the armoir behind me) and can make out the the phrases, me want hair, me big girl, me eat all my food. Well, it finally dawns on me that my Munch is telling me that she wants hair in her underarm just like Mommy. Charming isn't it? Recovering quickly from Munch's astute but damning observation of my occasional lack of feminine upkeep, I continue the conversation.

"Er, yes, that's right. If you want to be a big girl and have hair in your underarm, you should eat all your food."

"Me big girl. Me want hair. Me eat all my cereal, Mommy!"

"That's my big girl! I'm so happy to hear you say that!"

Munch turns her attention back to her bowl of cereal and manages to eat half of it. She announces that she is all done and gets out of her chair by herself. Oh well, good intentions is everything, right?