The Mole

At the tip of her left clavicle, Mamma has a mole. In eight years of marriage (Seven? Who's counting?) I had never noticed this. But it took Siena no time at all to find this. Maybe, over all those months of breast-feeding, she had nothing else to look at. But that doesn't explain Siena's obsession, which has lasted long past Siena's total migration to solids.

Obsession? How does a two-year-old manifest obsession? Fortunately, she does so in a cutely blogworthy way.

Naturally, Siena likes to be held by Mommy. Fine. Typical toddler behavior. But whenever our little koala clings to Mamma, she has to reach under Mamma's collar and just place her finger on that mole. And keep her finger there. Every single time. Heck, if I get Siena out of her crib in the morning the first thing she'll say is "I wanna check Mommy's mole." And the fact that she now says it in a complete sentence only makes it creepier.

What does this do for her? Is she draining energy from Mommy through the mole? Is it the conduit for a psychic link between mother and child? Is the thing a magnet? Siena isn't saying. But she doesn't buy it when Mamma pretends to touch Siena's "mole."

I suppose I should be grateful. Siena doesn't suck her thumb, have a security blanket, or manifest any other bad habits that you might attribute to breast-feeding. And hey, it's not my mole.

Just to pad this blog a little more (guess I'm still warming up): I switched between Mamma and Mommy in this blog, and have probably done it elsewhere as well. Mamma started out wanting to be called Mamma, which I suppose was some nod to her southern roots. And I tried to go with it for a while; heck, the kid has a MiMi and PopPop, and a MawMaw and PawPaw, so how much sillier can the names get? But Siena is not a southern girl, and has adopted Mommy almost exclusively. So maybe it's time that I gave it up as well, and forced Mommy to face the facts.