Anxiety

It lurks in the corners of all baby’s psyches. It is dark, dreaded and decidedly disruptive. No, it is not the boogieman, at least not so far as I can tell. Oh no, this monster of late is of the separation-anxiety genus, a little beast I call Mommoth. The Mommoth is a fearful creature, able only to keep her terribly tragic tears at bay when Mommy is near. Should the Mommy leave the Mommoth erupts in to a fit of howls loud and persistent enough to break even the most stone-cold heart. Poor Mommoth, her request seems so simple to her, Mommy must, at all times, be by her side. (Except of course when the Mommoth is totally occupied with something soo fun as to not matter what company she keeps… but that is totally beside the point) Why is it, the Mommoth wonders, must the Mommy sometimes go? Because the Mommoth knows, just knows, that the Mommy shall never return and then who, I ask you who, will read Pajama Time to her?!

Our little Evie Mommoth had a particularly hard week this week. So bad that on Wednesday I received a call at work from Nicole saying that Genevieve had just spent the last hour standing at the door, weeping and saying Mommy. I had no idea how to help our little distressed Mommoth… so I thought maybe talking to her would aid her in her sorrow. Ohh ho not so, this just angered the poor Mommoth even more! After she got off the phone she redoubled her wailing and cast the Evil Phone That Just Pretends to be Mommy aside. In the end, the only thing that put her back in the happy camp was for Nicole to fill up her baby pool and let her go for a swim (just about one of the best activities ever, enough to brighten any cloudy day).

And just think only a few months ago I found myself wishing and hoping that she would utter just one single mommy for her Mommy. I guess the old adage is true. Be careful what you wish for...