Mama, Do You Love Me? (for Josie)

Mama, Do You Love Me? by Barbara Joose

If you had a baby in the ‘90s, chances are this book came across your lap at some point. In Mama, Do You Love Me?, a little girl tests her Mama’s declaration through a series of escalating hypothetical scenarios involving clumsiness, naughtiness, and terrifying danger. And each time, the Mama’s response assures the child -- and reminds the parent reading -- that yes indeed, even when your Mama is exasperated, angry, or scared -- even when she is yelling at the top of her lungs, weeping silently in the shower, or googling “mushroom overdose” on her phone while driving downtown at 2 am in her bathrobe -- yes, Dear One, it's true: She still loves you.

At Josie’s going away party last Saturday, I read my own version of the book to her, in front of a crowd of family and friends who have seen her through many of these adventures, and loved her through all of them -- almost as much as her dad and me. I share it with you now, on the eve of her departure for college, with her permission.

Mama, do you love me?

Yes I do, Dear One.

How much?

More than the Streets love soccer,

More than Simon hates Little Libraries,

More than Emmie loves Spider-man,

More than Kanye loves himself.

How long?

Longer than Mount Rainier will stand to the South,

Longer than Seattle will drink coffee,

Longer than getting back from Ballard at midnight on the bus,

Longer than Simon putting on his shoes.

Mama, what if I came squelching out of your body at four in the morning, and I was all pink and wriggly with my arms waving and my big blue eyes open wide, and I blinked up at you and Papa, like, “Where am I? What’d I miss? Who are you? Who am I?”

Then I would hold you in my arms and stare down at you, and I would think you looked exactly like my baby pictures, like I had just given birth to myself. But then I would look into your eyes and I would know that you were you, and I would know that I already loved you more than I ever thought I could love anybody.

Mama, what if I wouldn’t go to sleep unless you lay down in my bed and nursed me, and sang a ridiculous song about the cat trying to come into my room, over and over again, and if you tried to sneak away before I was totally asleep, I would scream?

Then I would be tired, baby. All the time, for years. But still I would love you.

What if you bought me a white frilly nightgown and I was so excited to wear it I couldn’t even eat my dinner, but when it was time to put the nightgown on and go to bed, I totally melted down and wailed like a banshee?

Then I would be sorry you were having such a hard time, but honestly, it would be kind of funny, and after you finally fell asleep I would laugh about it with your Papa. And still I would love you.

What if I put ginger beer in a martini glass, and hid it at the back of the toy shelf, so that when you shoved the crate of toy trains in there, the glass shattered, and there was ginger beer and broken glass everywhere?*

Then I would be angry. I would lose my shit, maybe, and yell a lot. But still I would love you. 

What if my snake died, under horrible circumstances that do not bear repeating, and when it came time to bury him, my friends were all shrieking and grossed out by the smell, but I calmly put on my rubber gloves and clamped a clothes pin on my nose, and I reached into the glass terrarium and pulled Fruitcake out and gently coiled him in his shoe box coffin?

I would feel very sad and guilty about the snake. But I would be very proud of you. And still I would love you.

What if we were on vacation with some friends, and the other girls and I made snotty remarks about how gross it would be if our parents went naked in the hot tub after dinner?

Then I would be exasperated. I would put down my fork, and look around at all the other parents. As one, we would rise to our feet, take off all our clothes, and sit down again. We would pick up our forks and resume eating our chocolate cake. And so would you, in utter silence. After dinner we would go naked in the hot tub. And still I would love you.

Mama, what if I came running up to you in line at Ross Dress for Less with a pair of vinyl six-inch stilettos that I wanted to wear to the middle school formal, and I waved them at you wildly, with a huge hopeful grin?

Then I would roll my eyes and shake my head. I would turn to all the other women in line with my eyebrows raised, and they would all nod and laugh and back me up. But I would know in my heart that one day you would rock those shoes. And still I would love you.

Mama, what if you found me and my friends smoking pot in the basement?

I would be worried. I wouldn’t know what to do but I would feel like I needed to do something. I would call your dad, and he would be reassuring. And still I would love you.

What if we were out of town on Lopez Island for the weekend and I told my friends our house was empty and where the spare key was, so they could have a party there while we were gone?

Then I would be furious. I would feel betrayed. I would remove the spare key from its hiding place when we got home, and then when you needed to get in to get your rollerderby gear you wouldn’t be able to, and I would feel terrible. But still I would love you.

What if I burst in the door one night and told you that some dickweed flashed me on the bus?

Then I would be angry and upset. I would feel helpless yet also responsible, like I should chase the bus down and beat the guy up -- but instead I would call Metro security. And the weirdest cop in the world would come to our house to take your statement. He would stay for an hour telling us irrelevant, vaguely threatening stories, and asking you bizarre, vaguely inappropriate questions. And when he finally left, I would close the door behind him and lean back against it and look at you, and we would both laugh so hard we could barely breathe. And still I would love you.

What if I came home from a bar at two in the morning and stood on the doorstep with Austin telling you about the hip hop show we went to and the dance-off he won and the Andrew Wyeth book I bought in Harvard Square, and I was so happy and excited I couldn’t stop talking, and I was kind of glowing?

I would stand there gazing at you and listening to you, and I would remember all the years and years that I have looked at you and listened to you and loved you. I would know that soon you would head out into the world to live your own beautiful, crazy life, and that you would eat it all up -- every minute of it. 

I would love you so much I wouldn’t be able to sleep, and I would lie awake all night long thinking about how much I love you.

I will love you,

Inside and out,

Upside down and sideways,

Forever and for always,

Because you are my Dear One.

*It was revealed at the party on Saturday that in fact Bronwen may have been the one who put the martini glass full of ginger beer at the back of the toy shelf. Well, Bronwen -- I still love you too.