Having now the vast experience of being someone's Mommy for an entire five weeks, I can with confidence give myself the official rating of "adequate."
This means that, while I have poked her in the eye, clipped her finger with the nail clippers, and wrapped her up in a blanket coated in cat hair, I have not yet done anything so horrible as to ensure that she will run away to follow some meteor-worshiping cult when she's fifteen. (Running away to lead some meteor-worshiping cult would of course be perfectly acceptable. Especially at fifteen. Any mother would be proud.)
My mom spent the night last week, so that she could bask in the baby-glow of her Royal Babyness. This is when I learned that in addition to being an eye-poker, my baby finds me an uninteresting conversationalist. This became apparent as Wendy, who usually regards me with all the skepticism and furrowed brow of a nineteen year-old Hot-Topic sales associate, turned to my mom and chatted her up like they were sharing gossip and scones and wearing matching hats at a tea party.
Mom: And what does that little girl think about thaaat?
Wendy: Goo! Goooo! Neh? Geeerrrr! Goo!
Mom: Oh really? Well, I think so toooo!
Wendy: Geeeh! Geh? Geh.
Mo: Yeah, she doesn’t talk to me like that.
Mom: Well, you don’t talk silly to her. Try talking silly.
Mo: HELLO WENDY I AM YOUR MOTHER LOVE ME AND WE SHALL RULE THE DARK SIDE TOGETHER. ALL SHALL DESPAIR.
Wendy, Mom: …….
Mom: Um, you just need practice. ISn’t that right, little girl? Mommy isn’t as talky as grandma, is she? Nooo she's not.
Wendy: It’s ok, I forgive her. What she lacks in the basic human warmth required to make conversation with an infant, she makes up for in copious and generously given stores of mammary treats. I mean, have you seen those things? Acres and acres of boobs, and they’re all mine! …Goo.
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