My four-year-old friend.

Four years ago today, I became a mother. The more I get to know my daughter, Quinn, the more I truly and genuinely like her.

I know that might sound little cold. “You like your kid. Congratulations. You’re kind of supposed to like your kid.”

Actually, you’re supposed to love your kid, and I have since the moment I felt the first flutters in my belly. But LIKING your kid? That’s not always a given.

I don’t particularly like tantrums. I love the kid behind the tantrum, but I don’t really want to hang out with tantrum girl during my free time. I’m not inviting her to lunch.

Lately though, Quinn has become so much more independent. She has opinions and ideas, and many of them make a ton of sense. There is a little less head nodding and “That’s nice, dear,” and much more engaging conversation. Turns out, she’s a real good time.

Glasses buddies.

We chat. We giggle. We hang out.

Don’t worry. I am fully aware that there will be plenty of occasions down the road when she and I won’t like each other as much as we do now. I’m guessing from ages 13-16, she might not be a huge fan of her mom. Teaching high school for the past 10 years, I have become acutely aware of the being that is the high school female. Sometimes, they are nightmares.

That being said, I am going to soak up the happy, new development in our relationship. In fact, I might even invite her out to lunch to celebrate.