“She is a BABY and her name is B-HOPE!!!”
So says Grace, who has become quite belligerent lately when it comes to how she, and especially her sister, is referred to. I have no idea where she could possibly have gotten this fanatical attention to detail.
For starters, nobody is allowed to refer to Hope as a girl. She’s not a girl, she’s a baby. If you push it, she will slap you, or spit at you, or both. Seriously, she’s not kidding. Hope is a baby, not a girl — she, that is, Grace — is a girl…just a girl (the “just” is very important to the description apparently). Thinking of calling Grace a baby? Good luck with that, let me know how it turns out — I’m outta here.
It started a couple of months ago, when Grace discovered that we actually have names of our own, besides mama and mommy. Suddenly, it became very important for her to make sure that everybody knew that we had names and so pretty much everyone we’ve met over the past two months has been introduced to us by name.
“This is my mom, she’s Jen-fur…she’s my mom.”
And then I pay for the pizza.
She’s not terribly protective of Tammy or I though, that is reserved for Hope. I have to keep a close eye on her (Grace), especially during circle time at EPU — if other children get to close too Hope for Grace’s comfort she will smack them. It’s kind of embarrassing. It’s also kind of hilarious, and sweet. But her greatest rage is definitely reserved for those who fail to address Hope by the terminology that Grace has deemed acceptable.
The other night we were at a friends house and their youngster was telling a visiting friend about Hope, specifically, that she is a girl. I noticed Grace, who was not a part of the conversation but was within earshot, mumbling a series of corrections, “she’s not a girl, she’s a baby…she’s NOT a girl, she’s a BABY…” then finally, she slammed the toy she was playing with down on the couch, spun around and said quite emphatically, but without screaming: “She is NOT a girl, she is a BABY and her NAME is B-Hope!!” — if she had the vocabulary, I’m certain she would have added, “and I will kick your ass if you call her a girl again!!” Her fists were clenched….little psycho.
Nobody paid any attention, except me. I patted her on the head and told her to chill out. Honestly, where does she get the attitude? I blame Tammy.
Now, when it comes to her own identity she’s a little more forgiving, but still pretty sensitive. If I call her a goofball, she reminds me that she is “not a meatball, I’m just a girl, I’m Grace.”
“I didn’t say you were a meatball, I said you’re a goofball….and you are a goofball.”
“No I not, mom. I not a goop-ball. I not a meatball. I just a girl, I just Grace.”
We could go back and forth for hours, it’s fun and now I’ve got her running around the house like a toddler elephant man proclaiming to anyone who will listen “I am not a meatball!”