Banana Mamma

Snowballs!

This morning Kiki told me she was worried about someone casting a spell on her, and turning her to stone. I told her not to worry, she will be safe. I didn't feel like telling her what I worry about; that we'll wander into a public space where some fucking nut job goes off on everyone with a semi automatic.
My husband took her to the movies last week, to watch The Good Dinosaur, and I had to give him a warrior pep talk; he must barricade her from any gunmen, and don't get too brave and try to carryout a challenging escape route. Basically, I had to tell him, sacrifice yourself. He rolled his eyes at me, like a teenager, saying, "Totes Obs!"
They left and I watched House Hunters International for three hours.

The other night I was sleeping in George's bed, and Kiki called out "mamma, mamma!" She must have been shouting for a while because I woke up from a dream where someone was passing out bananas, shouting, "bananas, bananas!" Now that I think about it, they must have been speaking in a British accent. I crawled out of George's bed, and stumbled into Kiki's.
Laying next to her, I noticed how much she has grown. I sense there could be a time soon, where I tell her, "I can't carry you anymore," which would be terribly sad because she loves it when I cradle her in my arms and walk around pretending she is a new baby.
I devised a great plan to make sure I can keep carrying her around. Every morning, I will go into her room, pick her up and then do a lap around the house. The incremental growth will be unnoticed by our daily routine, so I will be able to carry her into my fifties, as she goes into her twenties. I am not sure what we'll do when she goes off to college, but maybe she will go to a commuter school.

Kiki might think my training to carry her around as an adult is a great idea now, as a four year old, but maybe when she is twenty she will find my desire to cradle her like a baby and carry her around the house deeply disturbing. As we grow older, our worries change. I wonder what I'll worry about when I'm fifty. Maybe that my daughter will have to carry me around... And gunmen, Obs.