Yesterday, I sat on my couch with #3 in my lap. We were playing with a Lalaloopsy doll. The doll is plastic and nothing about her seems real. I think to myself, “I never had dolls like this. With orange plastic hair, weirdly perfectly colored rosy cheeks, the perfect pouty lips.” I reward my cynicism with the fact that that she is kind of plump. But then always the naysayer I remind myself she was just a baby Lalaloopsy. Don’t we accept babies as being okay to be plump? To an extent I know because I remember those awkwardly nice but mean comments of my breastfed babies, “Oh she is getting so fat.”
As we were playing I was also admiring the perfect highlights in my daughter’s hair and her natural curl that people try and convince me needs a trim. I am stubborn because I won’t do it. For fear it will change her somehow. She is my perfectly rosy cheeked baby. She looks at me and whispers, “I wish I could be a Lalaloopsy doll.” It struck me. Initially, I thought it was the mumblings of misunderstood toddler speak. Then I asked, “You wish you were a Lalaloopsy doll, baby?” She smiles slyly revealing something I could not quite pick up and says, “Yes, Momma.” Is this a good thing? At 2 my daughter wants to be something different? Or should I be more impressed that she even understands that concept of being someone else or do I get lost in the idea that my 2 year old wishes for something else? And yes I know this is her using her imagination. But do we really start thinking that early on that the grass is greener somewhere else? One would think at 2 life would be pretty grand (at least in my house). And yes this me over analyzing another still moment.
While talking of conversations with my daughters, yesterday # 2 and I discussed how my love is different for each of my girls. And she wanted to know what that meant. For her literal meaning is the only thing she understands so I had to think hard about my wording. I said, “Well, I love you so much because you are always making me giggle when we are away from each other. She asks what that means and I respond, “Well you know how you hate lint? I was telling Granny about that today and I was just filled with giggles and smiles thinking about it. It made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. You always do that to me like when I am at work and things are quiet for a minute.” She says, “Well I can’t help it, Mom!” As if there was something to apologize for. I told her how wonderful a trait that is. That you are so unique that people can’t get you out of their heads. I assured her it was a perfect feature to have. Her beautiful hazely green eyes smiled and wanted more.
“What do you love about # 1?” I joke and say, “Not much.” She looks appalled. See I speak sarcasm. I am dripping with it often. #1 was getting her back rubbed by me in that moment and looks up at me while smiling and pretend smacking me because she got it. She knows her mom and I say, “That is why I love # 1. She made me a mommy and she laughs at my stupid jokes. I love so much about her. Her brown eyes and brown hair and her ability to always be goofy like her Momma.” And # 2 says, “What about # 3?” I think for a minute because she too is huddled into the only part of my lap that remains. It is as if my lap was made perfectly to fit these three amazing girls and some how even at 10, 7 and 2 I am able to fit them all. I smile big and I say, “I love that this girl can destroy anything and everything in a matter of moments. She is fearless. She will climb, scale, and move through the world with such grace that you will never realize it. That takes skill. And it is a good thing she is cute cause it will always get her outta trouble.” #2 seems satisfied with that answer and proclaims, “I am pretty sure I have the best Momma in the world” and then there was a brief pause and she says thoughtfully, “Why do I call you Momma?”
I have always been Momma. It isn’t that I made them call me that. Or that I detest the word Mommy. I just have never been called Mommy. Is that weird? Maybe it is. They only ever call me Mommy when I am awakened in the middle of the night by a fever, throw up or just plain not feeling good. But always once they come to. It is reverts back to Momma. I wonder how that happened? I kind of like it.