Sunday, January 29, 2012

In which my two-year-old tells me something I already know

Krista was out of town one night this weekend. Baby M woke up at 6 a.m. in the morning. I greeted her with bleary-eyed, half coherent mumbling and she looked me in the eyes and said, "Want to eat lunch." 

"It's not lunch time," I said. Sometimes she calls breakfast lunch.

 "Want cinnamon chex."

 "No. It's too early."

 "Want mama."

 "Mama isn't here this morning. She's in Corvallis."

 "Want mama!"

 "She's not here."

 "WANT. MAMA."

 "She's Not Here."

 At this point, M adjourned to the hallway, where she stood at the top of the stairs and shouted: MAMA! 

(Me: she's not here!)

 MAMA, COME UPSTAIRS!

 (me: She's not here, M!)

 MAMAAAA! COME UPSTAIRS!

(me: M, she's not here. I'm telling you she's not here.)

MAMA! WANT MAMA! COME UPSTAIRS MAMA!

(me: She's not here! She's not here!)

M walked back into my room and leaned up against the bed so that her eyes were even with mine. She waited until I looked her in the eye, and then she said to me, confidentially, "Mama not here."