I overhear Georgia talking about how her “mother is going to be so worried.” So I ask:
“Do you know who your mother is?”
Georgia: “Yea, gramma.”
Me: “No, I’m your mother.”
Georgia: “You’re not my mother, you’re my grandfather.”
Me: “No, I’m your mother and gramma is your grandmother.”
Georgia: “Gramma’s not my grandmother, she’s my grandson.”
Shea: “Daddy is your daddy.”
Georgia: “No, daddy isn’t my daddy, he’s my daughter.”