On a Wednesday morning walk to Chicklet’s preschool, she requests to be carried. Per usual, I decline.

“You don’t need to be carried, you’re a…”

Chicklet, who has apparently changed her tune since our recent discussion of the topic, anticipates my response and cuts me off.

“I’m not a bus chick!” hollers my little Link-obsessed darling. “I’m a train chick.”

Here’s hoping.

And for the record, I was going to say, “big girl.”