Mackenzie has an imaginary friend. To my knowledge, she’s never heard of anyone named Harold. In fact, I can’t think where that name has come up in a book, in a conversation… anywhere in her short life.
Yet while we were saying our bedtime prayers in a hotel room in Belize, we said we were thankful for Daddy, Mama, Kenzie, Grandpa… and she prodded me “and for Harold”. Since then, Harold has made regular appearances in our home.
Yesterday while I was getting lunch ready, she looked at me very seriously and said, “Mama, NEVER eat lunch with Harold.” All I could do was nod in agreement with that wise counsel. Other times, Harold would like to come with us to play or Harold would like to put on a hat like Mackenzie.
She’s never given me an answer to, “Who’s Harold” but tonight added an interesting twist to his life story: She pointed to the zebra on her diaper and said very clearly, “Silly Harold, he’s trying to get off there.” Hmm… I’m trying not to over think that.
Much to my dismay, the most frequent time we hear about Harold is in relation to his bathroom habits. Harold is constantly needing to go potty. This happens often enough that I’m beginning to suspect either he has some sort of overactive bladder or that Mackenzie simply delights in throwing potty words into regular conversation.
It *may* be the second one, actually, because Mackenzie has taken to throwing the word “Poopy” in front of his name. Poopy Harold. Poopy Harold likes grapes. And then today, she said she was happy. Poopy happy. Ugh. Here’s hoping ignoring it will make that habit lose its appeal…
Harold, on the other hand, is likely here to stay.