Are You My Mother?

I walked into TGI Friday's at 5:30, printed coupon in hand, and saw my daughter light up and yell hi, both arms outstretched. She hugged me with her whole body. The Boy had picked her up from day care so I could go to band rehearsal, and we met for dinner in between because I have become adept at scoring coupons for free meals. Mirabella was restless, lunging from lap to lap. I produced a plastic container of animal crackers.

"How do you have cookies in your purse?" The Boy asked.

"Mommies carry cookies in their purses," I explained. He looked flabbergasted.

I'm not embarrassed to be seen in public with spit up, drool, or cookie stained garments. I'm not fazed at work when I reach for my planner from my tote bag and a Sesame Street play thermometer or block falls out. I'm getting to the point where I'm no longer bothered when my child yells, squeals or shrieks in public. It's a little embarrassing when she says "hi" to passersby at the store, increasing her volume the longer they do not respond, but mostly that's funny. But one of her latest habits is deeply upsetting.

Aunt Nae, her day care provider, is at the top of her list of favorite people. I have mostly come to terms with this, and mostly I am grateful. If I have to be away all day, which I do, at least I'm able to leave her with someone who adores her (and whom she adores). But. Recently, Mirabella has learned to call Aunt Nae. She does this when she has finished her nap, when another child takes a toy from her, when she wants some milk, when she's not getting her way. And now, apparently, when her parents just aren't cutting it. Last Sunday in the church nursery, she had parked herself at the top of the slide, as is her custom, waving and shouting hi to the people below, with no regard for the children waiting to slide behind her. One of the kids pushed her out of the way. She squealed, "Ahh Na-ay! Ahh Na-ay!" I pretended I didn't know what she was saying.

One of the volunteers said, "Who is she calling?"

"Oh, um . . . Aunt Nae. That's her day care provider," I blushed.

Later that day in the grocery store, I had let her have a sip (or 20 gulps) of my chocolate milk. She had taken the straw out and spilled the milk all over her shirt. I pried it from her milky hands and moved it away from her. Again, she shrieked in frustration and yelled, "Ahh Na-ay! Ahh Na-ay!"

Since then? She calls Aunt Nae after she has said "ahh-dow" (all done) and we have not retrieved her from her high chair fast enough. She calls her if she can't reach a toy she wants, if we take something away we don't want her to have, if we force her to sit (not stand and walk across) the couch she has recently learned how to climb on. And last night, the kicker, after I had put her to bed I heard her on the monitor, calling softly, "Ahh Na-ay."

The other night while I worked on the computer in the office, I heard her downstairs calling Aunt Nae, presumably because The Boy hadn't rescued her from her chair fast enough for her liking. I then heard him correct her, "No, not Aunt Nae, Mirabella. Ma-ma, Ma-ma." At least he tried.