I recognize that look. The furrowed brow, the constrained eyes with pupils narrowing towards the center into a cold stare. It’s not her wearing the expression that I am familiar with, but the expression itself.
It’s like the pair of patent leather pumps she loves to pull out of my closet step into and play mommy. Just like her favorite pair of my shoes she is familiar with trying on, so is this expression.
I recognize that it belongs to me. My face knows how to, involuntarily, turn that exasperated and cold in seconds. I look down and realize that my sweet child isn’t misbehaving but is instead just playing mommy using the accessory she’s so familiar seeing me wear, frustration.