LMNOB has a new, all-together disturbing ability.

Most people would call it keen observation, and then point to me, insisting it’s hereditary.

I call it the-fruition-of-the-mother’s-curse-coupled-with-an-uncensored-mastery-of-manipulative-skill.

For those unfamiliar with the mother’s curse -it usually goes something like this:

“I hope you grow up to have a child (or more) just like you!”

And, it’s usually uttered by your life-giver when you are at an age ending in “teen.” The curse lies dormant for many years – so many that you often forget that the curse is waiting. Then it pounces on you, long after the child indicated in the curse has since captured your heart, and hog-tied it to the point of no defense.

This new ability is actually a phrase LMNOB has gotten quite consistent at using. The pretext to its proclamation is usually one of conflict re: some request I have asked of her. She usually fusses and then I reiterate my request, and explain the ramifications of dishonoring said request. At hearing the potential consequences, LMNOB says it, in her most convincing damsel in distress persona, replete with tears, poignant facial screwing-up and more:

But, Mama [Ssssssooooooob!] I just really don’t feel like myself. Something’s
wrong and I just. Really. Feel. Different!

It’s absurd. But I know exactly where she’s overheard it. This winter when I was in the pits of depression… Damn me if she’s not using my problem to her advantage – we are talking cleaning her room here, not go give that poor person all your toys!

I told the pediatrician yesterday while Punkinhead had his check-up and he about bust his nonexistent little gut in laughter (I left out where she’d come up with this lovely excuse – he’s not our FAMILY doctor after all), and quickly came to his senses and said, “I’m so sorry, but it’s really funny when it’s someone else’s child.”

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