Momnesia

Owned, by my child

Emmie left my bedroom to go to the bathroom... and returned 47 seconds later to fling her body onto the bed. I was busy reading a travel story in the New York Times, so I hardly glanced up at her mini-tantrum.

"MeenameenaMeenameenaMEENAmeena!" she whined, and flailed her arms.

Um, okay...

"What's up, Doodle?"

"BeeemaneemabmeeemaneemaBEEENAMEENA!" she shrieked.

"Yeah... I don't know what that means."

"I. NEED. TO GO. TO DA BAFROOM!"

"Okay. So, what's stopping you?"

"It's daaaaaaark!"

She's developed a fairly paralyzing fear of the dark lately. I don't want to make the fear too convenient, so I don't jump whenever she freaks out. Plus, I was really enjoying that story.

"Okay, give me a minute to finish this article."

And then I promptly forgot that she even existed.

Ten minutes later, as I finish the story, I look up to see her watching me, patiently. Mentally, I am still navigating the high steppes of the Andes and am overcome with wanderlust.

"Hey, Doodle, if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?" I ask.

"To da bafroom - like, right now," she deadpans.

She knew I'd forgotten about her. She was reminding me, with wry humor and laser-like precision, that she was being dutifully patient. I laugh so hard I almost throw up.

"Come on, Doodle." I pick up my sweet girl and carry her to the bathroom.

She kisses my cheek: "Fanks, Mom."

"You're welcome."