But she looks like such a girly-girl!

Today MZ picked out her own outfit. No, really, she toddled over to the pile of clothes I was folding and picked out this dress (notice the pinkness of this dress), pulled it out of the pile and said On. So that's what she wore to the rec center, where she ran Bubbie ragged pushing her around the basketball court in a large plastic wagon.

Yes, this is an adorable milestone and I'm proud that she's demonstrating preference, an aesthetic sense and will. But I'm not much of a shopper myself, so the fact that my not-yet-18-month old daughter picked out her clothes, and they were super-pink and, well, a dress, kind of freaks me out.

And yes she needs a haircut, I know that, but no, we're not cutting those curls anytime soon. We prefer to pretend that she's learning to appreciate barrettes, funky, cool and often sweet barrettes lovingly made by her Ma'na, as she flings them hither and yon. Clearly this photo was taken on a yon day.

Speaking of Ma'na and haircuts, she's pretty impressive in her refusal to listen when I tell her not to bring them up, no trims, no scissors, no nothing to do with cutting MZ's hair. I grew up with the imposition of the Dorothy Hamill, and the character it built? Not so much. Inevitably our girl will experience the lifelong pain of cyclically growing out her hair, why not start now? Anyway, my admonishments have graduated from subtle to straight-out Shut up to no avail.

Tante Judy recently scolded me, We don't say shut up in our house, but here at Casa Robmaliam, when we're tired and grumpy, we do. We evidently say a lot of other things, too, because when MZ woke up this morning mumbling in her crib, Robert and I looked at each other, eyes wide, and said Is she saying Oh, shit? We're pretty sure the answer is yes, because she said it again this morning when she dropped something. She's using phrases in context! Oooh, but they'e not socially acceptable phrases. I'm doing my absolute best to ignore this like it never happened. I will myself to keep my head straight, my breathing even, to continue what I was doing as though I didn't just see years of playground ostricization in our future. She gets big hurrahs for every new word and phrase, and this one is falling on deaf ears, so help me.

You're thinking, Dolts, didn't you learn from the eff-bomb? Well, yes, I hardly ever say it in front of her anymore. But oh, shit, that's my personal little temper tantrum right there, and they didn't used to call me Amy Angry for nothing.

Clearly we have a lot to learn about living with a mimic.

PS If you want to read someone who really knows how to write about their kid swearing.