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 clearly that is not true...”

It sounds cute until you come to the realization of how many times you call your kid by their name, or just talk to them in general. For snacks, to ask if there is a needed potty break, to get dressed, for juice, for help picking up THEIR toys. You call your kid a LOT. Or maybe it is just me- either way I got to hear “I Owlette, you Cat Boy” about 5 trillion times yesterday (and that is I only a slight exaggeration). 

Last night I was glad to see Kens, er, Owlette go to sleep because if I had to remember to call her something different for one minute longer I was going to have a nervous breakdown. This morning I woke her up and couldn’t help thinking sweet God, let’s not have a second day of Owlette. Welp, sweet baby Jesus heard my heathen prayer because she is not Owlette today and I am not Cat Boy. Nope. Today I am Everest and she is Skye from Paw Patrol. Yep, we’re dogs. 

Where is the wine? 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Birth Story: Part II

So the ride on a gurney towards the operating room seemed so long, even though it was just down the hall. Maybe it was the hellacious contraction I was having on the way? Possibly. Hubs had a designated chair in the hallway. The nurses rolled me right by him. He was dressed in scrubs-- he looked like a new resident on Grey's Anatomy-- nervous and kind of sick. On we roll. One big door opens into a freezer type room. Seriously, it was so cold in there. To my right (which was the back of the room) there was a little baby warmer, a scale and all the jazzy shit that babies need when they are cut out of you. To my left there was the "crucifix table" which was for me. Ok, I am not a complete heathen, that table really did look like a cross. What the hell did I sign up for? What was about to go down in this room? Ma'am? Sir? Is this thing on? I got some help being transferred from my gurney to the crucifix and I was introduced to the two anesthesiologists that would be inj
Read more

Bad Girl

So Kensie is going through a stage where she confuses the role of parent and child. Like, she CLEARLY thinks that I am her child. Ma’am.  Here is the conversation we just had:  Me: “Kensie stop with that high pitched noise.” (There was an eye roll that was so major, it cannot be adequately described in the English language.  Kensie: “But I playing!” Me: “Then go into the library and you can play as loud as you want, but I don’t want to hear that noise anymore.”  She gets off my bed, takes her Kindle and heads towards the library. Then she turns around, points her finger and says: “you a very bad girl because you keep not doing what I say!” 🥴🥴🥴 Welcome to Toddler Hell. Caffeine is our drug of choice and punishment for felonies include having to watch your kid reenact all the Disney songs she can think of (there are 2 songs that she knows by heart) on repeat. All day. The wage you pay for misdemeanors is having the person you gave birth to tell you that she is hungry. Every 15 minutes
Read more

That’s Mama Music

Image
Generally, I am off mom duty for about an hour and a half on Wednesday. Every Wednesday hubs packs a very excited ballerina into the car with a bag containing two different pairs of shoes- ballet and tap. I watch them pull out of the garage and *run* back to my (still) hot cup of coffee. As I slowly sip my magical concoction, I mentally prepare for the day, grateful to have some time away from my little sunshine. I drink my coffee while it is hot. I make lists for the next few days. I pick something to clean in the house. If I am feeling really fancy, I will throw together something for lunch, which would technically be my breakfast because I have a fucked up eating/sleeping/living situation. (Just so you know, I don’t generally feel really fancy... because I would rather soak up the silence than eat.) These are the things that happen on Wednesday. Every Wednesday EXCEPT today. Today, schedules collided, hubs had shit to do and mama had to take Little Miss K to dance class. I w
Read more