I call both of my girls Tootsie Pops. Well, I call them a whole bunch of names, but, much to their annoyance, Tootsie Pop definitely tops the list. More often than not they rebuke me, insisting I call them by whatever other name they would prefer to be called by.
That last one is the one that sticks most often. I’ve tried mixing the two into Princess Tootsie Pop, but they’re not fans of that either.
Late, late one night, after a diaper change in the dark, I tucked my daughter snugly under her covers and brushed her sweaty hair away from her face. She was still tight asleep; completely used to mommy’s middle-of-the-night ministering by now.
“Good night Tootsie Pop.” I whispered as I pulled the side of the crib back up.
She stirred a bit at my words and her hand floated to her mouth. She pulled out her pacifier, and without waking up or opening an eye, she slurred “I’s not a Tootsie Pop. I’s a princess!” Then she plugged her pacifier back into her mouth and rolled away from me.
If she’d been awake I’m sure she would have been annoyed that I laughed all the way back to my bed. Almost as annoyed as she was the next morning when I called her Tootsie Pop again.
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