Mommy-um, mommy-um, mommy-um, mommy-um...

I adore my child. Unquestionably. There are days, however, when I would be willing to petition the Minnesota State Supreme Court in order to never hear the words "mommy" or "up" lobbed in my direction for at least another decade and a half. As I write this, Lili has gone to bed for the evening, and I can hear the faint and muffled strains of "mommy-um, mommy-um, mommy-um" emanating from the confines of her tiny toddler bed (it's unclear to me what prompted the addition of "um" to "mommy". Regardless of it's origin, however, "mommy" and "um" now go together like peas and carrots). She worries my name over and over, like so many beads, until either her tongue or her mind sufficiently tire for the evening, or the musical stylings of Violet provide adequate distraction. The mommy-um saga reached a crescendo last evening while I feebly attempted to make dinner, (normally a Mama job, and for good reason), and Lili fastened herself to my calf as though clinging to a life vest on the sinking Titanic. Undeterred by my elaborate explanations of "hands full" and "mommy cooking dinner", she finally pulled out the Tupperware drawer and proceeded to crawl in, stand up, and reach for my waist with alligator tears pouring down her face, all the while screaming "Mommy up, mommy up!" until I was certain I would bleed to death through my ears. After five straight days and nights of solo-parenting, I stand by my claim that single moms and pregnant ladies remain my personal heroes.

In her defense, Lili probably has good reason to be clingier than a capuchin monkey these days. It's been a week since her Mama was rushed to the emergency room, complaining of numbness and, eventually, a complete loss of feeling along the right side of her body. After a decidedly inhospitable weekend at the local hospital, and a series of terribly painful tests conducted by recently graduated "doctors" from the University of Worthless, we were sent home with no diagnosis and an abiding distrust in America's medical system. Poor Mama spent the remainder of her week in a dimly lit room, attempting to recover from the four holes in her spine and a massive headache. From a babe's perspective, her normally boisterous and ready-to-wrestle-at-the-drop-of-a-hat Mama was reduced to a moaning puddle on the couch, and Grandma Kool and Nana were suddenly dropping by the house at unexpected intervals. Coupled with the fact that I was forced to disappear for two days with little more than a hasty goodbye, and a toddler's normally routinized little world could quickly and easily be thrown in to disarray.

On this particular rainy Saturday, our little family made a foray in to the outside world for the first time in a week. Lili cruised around the mall like a Tuesday morning speed walker, and Mama kept pace behind us, relying on the stroller as a makeshift walker. With the moms reunited, Lili's mood improved exponentially. She bopped back and forth between Mommy and Mama, grabbing fingers and alternately dragging us through men's shoes and cosmetics. By the end of our day together, she was working on a new phrase that was music to a Mommy's ears..."Mama-um, mama-um, mama-um!"