I’ve started talking to my laundry. A few days ago, I caught myself saying, “Come on, guys, let’s go!” while scooping clothes out of the dryer. I must have gotten so used to addressing the girls without expecting a response that I’ve generalized this activity to inanimate objects. Pretty soon I’ll be chatting away to my lunch. I can hear myself now, cooing in a high-pitched sing-song voice : “Aren’t you a yummy sandwich. Yes you are! You’re the yummiest sandwich I’ve ever seen! Momma loves a good sandwich!”
There are quite a few verbal oddities of motherhood, I’ve noticed. Another is my newfound tendency to refer to myself in the third person. I don’t know how that switch got flipped in my brain, but I now rarely use the words “I” or “me” when talking to the girls. It’s always: “Momma needs to change your diaper!” or “Give Momma big smile!” I have puzzled over why my maternal instincts seem to prefer third person references over the first person. Maybe I’m unconsciously trying to identify myself to the girls, just in case they don’t already know I’m their mother. I guess my laundry and my lunch will also be sure to know who they’re dealing with!
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