When I give D some milk, I also give her a Kitchen roll. When she's using her scooter in the house, I keep all the kitchen cabinet doors closed and keep an ice pack in the fridge. Because, "It happened by accident." is what D will say when the milk spills, she bangs into the cabinet door, drops all her markers on the floor and bumps herself on the head at the kitchen counter for the one hundredth time getting up too quickly after picking up the markers.
In the 2 years we've lived in this house, she's never once used the stairs. She'll slide through the railing, like Spidergirl, slide through the carpet, use the hand rail to hang on and get off the stairs lest she trigger those laser beams aka James Bond, in her case, Janice Bond. (She hates being compared to a boy).
A big part of being a mother, I think is to have super awesome reflexes. Like when she's flying through the stairs, you automatically sense that she's going to step on to the scooter she's left on the floor and will fall and bump her head. You don't have to look to see if the scooter's there. You know it is and you get rid of it because it's like your second nature.
While dropping her at school, for picture day, you know she's not going to wear her jacket, because, well, she wants everybody to see her dress, but you know she will be cold. So when she's freezing as she enters the playground, you automatically pull out her jacket from thin air (her backpack) and she'll smile at you, "How did you know?"
The more I am a mother to D, the more I realize what my mother was to me. I get up only at 7, cook very little (D has limited choices to work with) for D and her dad (he mostly gets what I make for her), then drop her off before heading home to work on my laptop. My mom used to get up at 4 in the morning, everyday, make separate lunches for me and my sister (like in everything else, we had mutually exclusive tastes in food too), made breakfast and lunch for my grandparents, prepared Appa's Puja plate for offering obeisance to God, made beautiful rangoli patterns at the entrance to the house and always had time for her morning prayers. She too, knew what we wanted without us ever telling her. "How did you know?"
So when D asks me how do I know, I really don't know the answer. I guess I just do - because I know - her. Because, all moms - just have that super power - they know their kids. It feels extra great to be the reason for the smile.
Pic Source: HedbonStudios