The opposite of bad

I started joking with Sebastian a few months ago about how only his bad mama would do certain things.  For example, his bad mama would leave him in a dirty diaper and not care if he got a wicked rash as a result.  This was obviously said in a moment of writhing, screaming rage at a difficult change (pre-toilet-training days, I don’t miss you at all).

This kind of thing continued on, whenever Mr. Contrary would say that he wanted me to do the opposite of what I was doing, like forcing him to wear a coat in 30 degree weather.  “Only your bad mama would let you go out in just a t-shirt, honey,” I’d tell him.

“You want me to go away and get your bad mama!” he would reply, and then we would both laugh.  {I know, the pronoun use is confusing, just reverse it and you can figure out what he meant.}

Anyway, I never said exactly which mama I was, just that I wasn’t his bad mama.  I decided to let him draw his own conclusion about what the opposite of bad might be.  I crossed my fingers, knocked on wood, spun around three times under a full moon, and hoped that he’d declare someday that I was a good mom.

Yesterday, when I informed him that only his bad mama who would let him have snacks all day and no lunch and no dinner, he didn’t smile or joke back.  He told me that he didn’t want a bad mama…

He wanted his Real Mama.

I think he is much wiser than I’d realized.