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."
"Mama isn't here this morning. She's in Corvallis."
"She's not here."
"She's Not Here."
At this point, M adjourned to the hallway, where she stood at the top of the stairs and shouted:
(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."