Me at three. My mom did not get me. The showdown started early. Mom wanted a baby doll of a little girl whom she could adorn in frilly dresses and patent leather Mary Janes. She dreamt of kempt hair with cute ribbons. What she got, however, was chubby, messy me. I was my own little animal with a bit of a feral streak. I had no use for the corduroy jumpers and matching tights that she perpetually tried to inflict on me. I…
