One of my mom’s nicknames for me was Madame Tootsie Bagel, and I started calling Sarah that too, and so did Max. It seemed to suit her combination of cuteness, joy, and a little sass. I always assumed Mom got this name from old radio programs of the 1930s or 40s, or from vaudeville, where she got a lot of the songs she used to sing and other nicknames she had for us. But I’ve Googled “Madame Tootsie Bagel” many times to no avail. It must have been Mom’s singular creation.
We called Sarah ‘Madame Tootsie Bagel’ a lot around her assisted ballet class, which she went to from the age of four onward. She really loved the class but sometimes she didn’t like interrupting other activities in order to get dressed in her leotard and tights and ballet shoes. “Madame Tootsie Bagel! The dance awaits!” we would tell her. “Madame Tootsie Bagel must dance!” She would laugh. One time she looked back up at us and said very clearly “That’s me.”
Sarah’s speech was like that after about age 3 or 4. She did not talk regularly or consistently and she could not produce speech in response to prompting. But every once in a while, she would produce a phrase or sentence spontaneously out of the blue. There was the time in 2011 we test drove our Subaru Forester and she exclaimed happily “I like it!” On another occasion when she was 9 or 10 we drove to our neighborhood pool but it was closed for some reason and she sadly announced “But I love the pool.”
A memory has been making me sad lately of Sarah when she was still very small, around two or three years old. I took her to Macy’s to buy a winter coat in the infants and toddlers department and we picked a little pink coat and snow pants out and were at the counter paying. Sarah was in her stroller and she saw the giant gumball machine that was next to the counter. She didn’t chew gum, she wouldn’t have had the muscle strength to do so, but she was attracted to the bright display. She pointed her finger and said “Mama,” two tasks that physically required a lot for her. At the time I told her “Honey, you don’t chew gum” and that was the end of it. I wish now I had gotten her a gumball. She could have just held it in her fist. She didn’t have to chew it. She obviously wanted it and put a lot of energy into pointing (requires finger isolation) and saying “Mama” so clearly. Her little heart wanted it.
Incidents like this make me feel so guilty now, as if Sarah was a deprived child raised by an insensitive parent. My rational voice tells me “Your kid didn’t get a f— gumball. That’s it. It’s not a tragedy” But I cry anyway. Maybe I’ll buy some gumballs today and release them into the wild for my Madame Tootsie Bagel.
The First Year Without Sarah 