Sharing Mommy

Some things aren't meant to be shared. Your underwear. Slightly used Kleenex. Intimate details of a colonoscopy. Gum.

And according to my toddler, you can add "My Mommy" to this list.

CeCe has become intensely possessive of dear-old-me lately. If my gaze even lands on an infant, she starts climbing up my lap and redirecting my face with her tiny hands. Her jealousy took a step too far this week, when she physically asserted her claim over me to another child at daycare.

Our sweet little friend at daycare loves to play with my hair and I happily kneel down and let her play Baby Vidal Sassoon. But this crossed some imaginary boundary with CeCe. Even though she was fully occupied with some toy that resembled a camping lantern, once she saw another little girl in my lap, it was on.

I was mortified as I watched my daughter use both hands to push the girl out of the way.
"MY mommy!"

I swiftly took CeCe's hands, repeated my "no's" and "that's not nice" and "we don't push people- EVER."

Imagine if this principle was never learned. I can just see my daughter 30 years from now at a shoe sale. Some unsuspecting size 8 has the last pair of those cute strappy sandals, so CeCe just shoves her over and grabs the box. "MY shoes."

"Sharing is caring" and all that jazz are great ideas, but conveying that to a one-year-old seems difficult. I want CeCe to understand I am her mommy and will always love her more than any other child on the planet (except for future siblings ... oh crap. I see another problem in our path.)

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