When Big B was on the last train out of Toddlerhood (just west of Clarksville), I conjured up this little piece of interactive prose:
"Are you a baby?" I'd ask.
"No!" My gangly child would answer.
"Are you my baby?" I'd prod.
"Yes!" He would answer gleefully.
He still plays along, knowing instinctively, I think, that if he ever said, 'Mooooommmm!' or 'Uhhhhh, yeah. I don't think so,' it would be the verbal equivalent of cutting my heart out with a spoon (y'know, it's dull, it'll hurt more). He always ends with a tight hug.
My children are merely trained actors in my own little scripted family drama.
Sassy, of course, plays along too. And because she's just a squishy ball of squishy sweetness, she usually ad libs an extra little morsel of verbal love. Sometimes it's 'Yes, always!' or 'Yes! And you're my best mommy!"
Straight from Central Casting, that one is.
This morning we were snuggling in front of the fire, watching a few flurries tango outside the window (IN OCTOBER) and I prompted her:
"Are you a baby?"
"Are you my baby?"
And because she hates me and wants me to spend the entire day weeping, she added,
"I will ALWAYS be your baby. Even when you're in HEAVEN."