Stepford Mom?

So it seems Molly sometimes doubts I am who I say I am.

We were snuggling in bed when she was about 5 years old and she starting rubbing my back.

Molly: "Do you know what I'm doing?"

Me: "Rubbing my back. I like it."

Molly: "I'm... checking for batteries."

Me: ...

Molly: "Sometimes I think my real mom got taken and was replace by a robot."

Alrighty then.

So I guess I shouldn't have been TOOOOO, TOOOOOO surprised when the following occurred during check-out at the Hampton Inn last weekend.

I looked up from my hot tea to see Molly looking frightened, leaning against the wall. Okay, maybe she was cowering.

Me: "What's the matter, Molly?"

Molly: "You're not my real mom."

Me: "What? Why?"

Molly: "When you were checking out, the lady asked your last name and you didn't answer her. You just said 'Umm' and had to look at the bill before you said 'See.' My real mommy would know what her name is."

Oh my. Poor thing. Her real mommy does know what her name is, usually. But with no fewer than 3 possible configurations of my name, 5 email accounts, multiple passwords for work and home, phone numbers-- home and cell, and even my new personalized license plates, I sometimes get a tad...confused. I was just glad I had pants on.

I would like to think if I were replaced by an imposter, my doppelganger would have more energy, more patience, could figure out elementary school math and would be a better cook that I am. But I guess we need to keep this whole thing semi-believable.

Eeep.