Those three little words: I love, ewww

I'm pretty sure it's because her Darwinian survival instinct has kicked it up a notch, but the baby has just learned to say I love you. Or, in her case, I love ew. It sometimes sounds like she's saying I low, ewww, as if the act of loving is necessary and inevitable, but nonetheless disgusting. She's not wrong.

Because she is clever, she understands that she can use these words -- which no doubt have no meaning for her except for what actions tend to follow them -- to get stuff. Sometimes she says it in what appears to me a genuine way, to communicate affection, like when she puts her head on my shoulder and accompanies this gesture with a tender "I love ew," or when she follows Seconda around, running after her sister and uttering a beseeching "I LOVE EW."

And sometimes, she'll ask for "awwanjj jus" and when I don't give it to her, she'll open the fridge and point vehemently to the Tropicana, repeating "awwanjj jus" and then, when she still doesn't get it, she'll try "i love ew?" because she knows I am, for the time being, incapable of resisting that siren song. I crumble.

Eventually, I suppose, I'll build up a tolerance to it and be able to enforce rules again. For all our sakes, I hope it's soon. But right now, I'm just luxuriating in it. I love, ewww. 

Mother, how I (pretend) love you!

I have realized that the only way to get my four year-old daughter to show me affection is for her to enter the land of make believe. If we pretend that she’s someone else, preferably a princess, and I’m that someone else’s mother, she has no problem lavishing me with hugs and kisses and declarations of love.

“Oh Mother Gothel! Mother dear, how I love you! Mwah mwah mwah mwah!” Big show of kissing my cheeks and throwing her arms around my neck.

“Oh Rapunzel! How I love you, darling child!” Yes, I feel a little cheap, but a mama’s got to do what a mama’s got to do to make it through. Dignity is not a top priority for me anymore.

This wasn’t a problem with Primo. He’d show affection for his dear old Mama without incentives. But Seconda truly detests kisses and hugs, particularly from me. Its not that she doesn’t care for me or that she’s a cold-hearted child – far from it: these things just totally skeeve her. Every time I kiss her, she wipes it off with an irrepressible shudder of disgust, Sometimes, if she wants an ice cream or a treat or something, I can’t help but use her desperation to my advantage and ask her for a kiss or hug first. But then she looks so repulsed, I feel sorry for the girl and tell her it’s OK and give her the ice cream cone, In my desperate need for positive feedback, I don’t want to teach the kid to use kisses to get what she wants. Still and all, I did give birth to her and sometimes I want to cuddle the child. That’s when I pretend to be someone who the person she’s pretending to be loves.

“Mother! My daaaaarling little mother! You’re the best mother is the WHOLE WIDE WOOOORLD!”

I realize that she doesn’t really mean it, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll take it where I can get it: “Thank you! Oh thank you! Let’s never part, darling child!”

“Oh but Mother, I must! I must go! They are AFTER MEEEEEEE!”

And she’s off, fleeing across the playground from invisible pursuers. Still, she doesn’t forget her dear old Mother (the pretend one) and sporadically turns back, blooding frantic, passionate kisses through the air.

Primo watches this whole spectacle.

“You shouldn’t encourage her, Mommy,” he chastises me.

“I know,” I sign, “But I’m only human.”

I'm married to my daughter

The whole princess thing is gaining momentum with Seconda. I don’t love it but there’s not much I can do to stop it so I’m trying not make too much of a fuss. Up until now, the element of these stories that really fascinated Sec hasn’t been the prince or the romance but the evil characters. Most of the time she’s dressing up as the evil stepmother or Maleficient or Ursula, and I get it, completely. They are the only women in the stories who DO anything of interest. They are, in fact, incredibly powerful: they work magic, and wreak havoc and have a real impact. I’ve secretly been proud that she’s so into the evil villanesses and unconcerned with the princesses, who are, for the most part, big old ditzes.

But a few days ago, something changed. Sec walked over to me and said in an incredibly solemn voice:

“Mommy, will you marry me?”

“Will I marry you?” I repeated.

“Yes,” she repeated softly, gazing into my eyes, “Will you be my wife?”

I’m not sure where she’s got this from, since the fairytales we read and watch don’t cover this verbiage: no one really asks anyone to get married, it’s just a forgone conclusion seeing as how the prince saved the girl from a gruesome death.

But wherever she got it from, the question was pending, and I replied with the only possible answer: “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Then she ever-so-slowly brought her face to me and gave me a kiss.

Have I told you how affection-starved I am by my whirling dervish of a daughter? She almost never even accepts a kiss from me, much less offers one herself. She has literally WIPED OFF every kiss I’ve given to her for the past year. I was so heady from the affection that I found myself continuing the game by asking, “Seconda, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said, absolutely breathless, “I will marry you Mommy. And now I will give you the kiss of love.”

Funny, I figured Sec would want to marry her Dad, since he more closely resembles Prince Charming and since she so clearly adores him and all. But no, she’s chosen me.

My sister came over this weekend, and witnessed one of our unending proposals of marriage. She, too, is utterly deprived of Seconda kisses and hugs, so she thought maybe she could get in on the action,

“Hey, Sec,” she ventured, “Will you marry me?”

‘I CAN”T MARRY YOU!” Sec shouted, chagrined, “I AM MARRIED TO MY MUDDER!”