My name is...
Most days I am “mama,” hubs is “dada,” and our offspring is “Kensie”. Most days. Which is generally how we like it, since we pored over our baby name list and picked a name that had meaning to us and all that jazz, right!? Right. Starting yesterday, Kensie decided that she was NOT going to be Kensington for the duration. She was on some ‘my name is whatever I say it is’ bullshit. Not only did she say what her new name was, but Mark and I got new names also. She changed up the game all over. Like, fuck my feelings forever— she didn’t care that I’ve had the same name for 41 years, that shit stopped yesterday! 😒😒 So yesterday, Baby K was Owlette from PJ Mask. I was Cat Boy (did NOT like) and hubs was Gekko. If we called her baby, Kensie or any other name besides Owlette she SWIFTLY sent the correction AND would not answer us until we used her proper name. Protests of “I Owlette!!” rang through our house, followed by this look that screamed “I thought y’all were smart, but cle