Laila is the cutest, creepiest little sweetheart I’ve ever met.
From around the corner, I overheard her playing in the playroom with Eli and Daddy.
That’s when she said:
“We killed fresh Mommy. She was getting old.”
Laila jumps in and out of an alternate reality. I follow her there.
(OK, normal people would just put it like this: “Sometimes we play pretend”).
In my daughter’s other world, there is a story line involving two mommies:
Fresh Mommy and Old Mommy.
Sometimes I’m Fresh Mommy. Sometimes I’m Old Mommy.
It depends on a number of factors, I imagine, like atmospheric pressure and under-eye bags and whether or not a butterfly has flapped its wings in Venezuela.
I’d worry about the morbid turns of Laila’s storylines if it weren’t so cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute.
In the next part of the story, Laila turned dead fresh mommy into an eagle.
I’m going to bet she’ll morph back into fresh mommy again, at which point she will slip on her latest athleisure and do energetic, dewey, fresh mommy things, like eat kale and baby wear.