You are Chopped Liver Now, Didn’t You Know?

5 Oct

One of many, many, many things that you are not told/ prepared for when you have a child is that you are not the favorite anymore. To anyone. LOL.  Not only are you not the favorite, you pretty much don’t matter. 

I am an only child. I am the first grandchild on my mother’s side. I am the only granddaughter on my father’s side. My family had nicknames for me like “loveliness.”

So, yeah, ok, I’m a little spoiled. I won’t deny it. But the CHANGE in people’s behaviors is just totally amusing.  Good thing I have a thick skin!

Take my Grandmother, Mom Mom. She is clasically known for her two end tables that feature her three grandchildren during various stages of cuteness and awkwardness. I actually had my own table, because my other two cousins are brother and sister. So they had to share. That’s what siblings do (I’m told?)

Anyway, the last time I was at Mom Mom’s house, I was shocked to look at my table and see, guess who?  Not me! Dearest Beatrice. And guess where my pictures were? Lined up behind the lampshade on the stairs! Not even hung… just teetering on the edge of the stairs, leaning against the railing. The child is only 13 months old… there aren’t that many photos of her around, how can she usurp me so quickly?  Oh, and I’m told she needs even more recent ones of Bea.

“Mom Mom, the most recent picture of me here is more than 14 years old!”  Well, I look almost the same, she says.  Bea changes so fast, you see.

Mom Mom is classic for things like “Oh watch the baby’s head, Carrie, don’t let it flop around,” “Make sure my baby is covered up, now, we don’t want her catching cold.” You know. Like I’m a dummy.

My mother doesn’t say stuff like that to me, but let’s just say Beatrice knows what side her bread is buttered on:

“Oh Bea didn’t want to go to sleep so I got her up and gave her a drink.”
“My baby is crying….” (Sad face)
“I gave her french fries for dinner.”

And you KNOW Bea knows my mother will give her whatever she wants. My daughter reaches for no one. She does not cry when I leave for work. She is fiercely independent and too busy with whatever she’s doing to be bothered to stop for a hug. But when she sees my mom, arms outstretch like “Please save me from these mean people that let me cry it out in my crib!”

Last night, we had dinner at my moms, and Mom Mom was there. I was moving Bea’s highchair to the table and accidentally bumped into the recliner Mom Mom was sitting in. She jumped.

“Oops, sorry Mom Mom.”
Gasping, “Oh no, I thought the baby hit her head!’
“No, it was just me.”
“Oh, ok.” Sits back down, visibly relieved.

Umm.. I think I sort of stubbed my toe a little? Anyone? Hello?

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