My parental screw up period is over

On Sunday morning as Annika and I rolled out of bed, I went in to the living room, put on a video and said to her, “Mommy is going to lie back down for a few minutes. Okay?” I swear I never do that, but I was really tired on Sunday. Honest. I really don’t.

As I flopped back into my bed she ran in and was like, “No Mommy. Gep up.”

As I lay there looking at her demanding my attention, something occurred to me. She might actually remember this. Oh shit. I better gep up.

Up until recently I have been operating under the assumption that I am still in my grace period for parental fuck ups because, well, she ain’t gonna remember, so if I do something wrong I can still plead the fifth during her therapy sessions after her first traumatic relationship where her therapist starts pointing out the parallels between our relationship and why she lets men treat her like shit.

I’m really looking forward to that.

But yeah. She really remembers things now and I have no idea when her first long-term memory might kick in.

My first memory is one of me wearing my Cookie Monster pajamas and chasing after my brother to bring him his lunch at the bus stop. My mom says that I wore those jammies when I was about 2. She was surprised that I remembered them.

So, really, do I want Annika’s first memory to be of me telling her to go watch TV while I sleep? I can see it now. She’s going to be blogging about her childhood and I will be all like, “I swear to all the gods in all the universes, I only did that ONCE!”

I vaguely remember reading somewhere that language and memory go hand in hand. And if that is accurate, then I suppose she really might remember a lot of what’s happening right now. She’s really speaking in full sentences now, even though a lot of them are not distinguishable to most people.

So I guess my grace period is up. I wonder if that means I’m eligible for health insurance now.