Samantha (my 2.0) and I are about the same height. She’s 11. (I’m totally cheating in the picture – gotta love a great pair of four inch heels.) Shocking, I know, but given the fact that I quit getting taller right around age 12, I’ve got my fingers crossed that she gets there soon. I’m even hopeful that she gets taller than me, but don’t tell her. I’ve got to keep that whole dominate older sister persona intact. Of course, if you’ve ever read my blog, you know that EVERYONE is taller than me now except the 2.0s. Dominate older sister persona STILL intact, shortest one or not. No, I don’t weigh the same as I did when I was 12. That’s why I said I quit getting taller. Thank goodness I developed a few curves after the fact. Otherwise it’d be a little harder to pull off the whole “I’m an adult, I’m a lawyer, and you should listen to me.”
We were hanging out this week when Sam hit her head on an open kitchen cabinet door. Ever the optimist, she said “Well, at least I’m tall enough to hit my head!” Talk about a silver lining. That’s my 2.0. And I love her.




