So, little Lochlan... your birth has not happened yet, but I think we're getting close. I've been dilated to 2 cm for at least three weeks, and I've been having irregular, short contractions off and on for weeks as well. I was so sure you were going to be early! But here we are on your due date, September 3rd, still a family of three.
I have been off work for two days, which feels strange. It is the first time in 15 years that I haven't begun the school year with my students. I have been getting some things done around the house and some errands and such, but I feel restless and ready.
Today, I went to see Dr. Seaver, and he said I was dilated to 4 centimeters (which I wasn't until the hospital with Zadie), 70% effaced (less than with Z), and at -2 station (the same, actually). He asked if I wanted to get things going, and first I asked if there were any adverse effects. He said, "Just starting labor." So I said, "Do it!" He stripped my membrane, and now I'm home again, having eaten dinner with your sister and dad (we had Corti Brothers sandwiches, a Wednesday night tradition around here).
I'm not sure when things will get going, but the doctor seemed pretty sure it would be soon. So I'm off to go get some dessert before I can't, and then I'll draw Z a bath and soon after, likely put her to bed.
When are you coming, baby? I am looking so forward to holding you and seeing your face.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Only child no more
Dear Zadie,
For the last six years (you keep telling people you're six-and-a-half, but not quite yet!), you've been my only child. And you are a delight. And a pain. I can't pretend that raising you is easy -- every day brings challenges that, sometimes, I wish would ease up. Like, I asked you to clean your room,this afternoon, and before you actually got to picking up those few things on your floor, you had negotiated, argued semantics, feigned incompetence, asserted your self-determination, and made terroristic threats, and ultimately I told you you could come out when it was clean. What should have taken five minutes took an hour. It's a struggle, baby.
On the other hand, I feel so lucky to have had all this one-on-one time with you. People talk about spacing between babies a lot. Like, whether it's better for your sibling relationship to be closer, or farther, but not too far. They talk about practical matters like diapers (is it better to deal with two in diapers at once?). They talk about sibling rivalry and school. And of course I've thought of all those things. This 6 (and a half!) year difference wasn't entirely intentional -- partly, it took us a long time to decide, and partly, it took us a long time to conceive. But I am glad for the space. Because having had the last six years with you as an only child meant we got to have some really special times. We went to Harbin and walked the labyrinth together. We snuggled under blankets in the winter. We played Butterfly Bingo. We pretended (SO MUCH). We took walks holding hands. We threw rocks into the river. We made muffins. And I didn't have to divide my attention between two of you, or respond to a baby when he cried.
I will, now, you know. I am looking forward to meeting your brother, and I know I'm going to love him every bit as much as I love you. But I'll never have with him the special years I had with you, just you alone. And I feel grateful for those years, because even though you are a pain sometimes, and I lose my temper more often than I'd like, I am glad we got so much time together. You're a special kid, brilliant, creative, funny, passionate, and goofy. I can't wait to see what you're like as a big sister, and I'm thrilled that Lochlan will have you to look up to.
Love,
Mom
For the last six years (you keep telling people you're six-and-a-half, but not quite yet!), you've been my only child. And you are a delight. And a pain. I can't pretend that raising you is easy -- every day brings challenges that, sometimes, I wish would ease up. Like, I asked you to clean your room,this afternoon, and before you actually got to picking up those few things on your floor, you had negotiated, argued semantics, feigned incompetence, asserted your self-determination, and made terroristic threats, and ultimately I told you you could come out when it was clean. What should have taken five minutes took an hour. It's a struggle, baby.
On the other hand, I feel so lucky to have had all this one-on-one time with you. People talk about spacing between babies a lot. Like, whether it's better for your sibling relationship to be closer, or farther, but not too far. They talk about practical matters like diapers (is it better to deal with two in diapers at once?). They talk about sibling rivalry and school. And of course I've thought of all those things. This 6 (and a half!) year difference wasn't entirely intentional -- partly, it took us a long time to decide, and partly, it took us a long time to conceive. But I am glad for the space. Because having had the last six years with you as an only child meant we got to have some really special times. We went to Harbin and walked the labyrinth together. We snuggled under blankets in the winter. We played Butterfly Bingo. We pretended (SO MUCH). We took walks holding hands. We threw rocks into the river. We made muffins. And I didn't have to divide my attention between two of you, or respond to a baby when he cried.
I will, now, you know. I am looking forward to meeting your brother, and I know I'm going to love him every bit as much as I love you. But I'll never have with him the special years I had with you, just you alone. And I feel grateful for those years, because even though you are a pain sometimes, and I lose my temper more often than I'd like, I am glad we got so much time together. You're a special kid, brilliant, creative, funny, passionate, and goofy. I can't wait to see what you're like as a big sister, and I'm thrilled that Lochlan will have you to look up to.
Love,
Mom
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Happy (belated) 6th birthday, Azadeh!
Her birthday dinner.
At karate.
Playing with a bubble toy she got for her birthday.
Skate camp.
Reading in the bath.
Baking "strawberry hide-and-seek muffins."
The sweatshirt she saw and loved.
Making an ant for a school project.
Her brand-new sparring gear for karate.
Reading about how to calm her baby brother.
If someone had asked me six years ago what I was hoping my daughter would be like, I wouldn't have known exactly what to say. Happy. Balanced. Whatever she wanted to be. And if that person had said they could see into the future, and that my daughter would love to skate, to do karate, to draw, to bake, to read, and to dress up fancy, well, I'd have been delighted!
And now here I am in the middle of it, and that's who she is. That's not to say that she isn't sometimes argumentative, mouthy, loud, and extremely energetic. But underneath it all, she seems to know that we love her and we accept her just how she is. And I think she feels supported in whatever she wants to try. Not everything is on the table -- she sometimes asks to re-join soccer or ballet, and I discourage her. I don't want to be the parent who schedules our whole lives around driving to various lessons. But overall, I think we allow her to express herself and try out her various interests, and I couldn't be happier with the adventurous, risk-taking, fearless, sweet, curious, smart, loving child she is.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Dear Duckie
This week was the week you were due. This is also the beginning of a new year, and I am going to do my best to let you go. While the time passed between your loss and your erased due date, it felt a little like a haze was over my life -- like I was looking through a colored gel like they use in stage lighting. That's not to say I wasn't happy or that I dwelled, just that you were sort of there, too. And now, I think I'm going to let that go.
If you had grown up with me, you'd have known me to be a realistic optimist, a pragmatist, a skeptic. When you asked why the sky was blue, I would tell you about light. When Christmas rolled around, I would not try hard to deceive you about Santa.
We have been having long and serious talks with your older sister about God and Jesus and religion and heaven and hell and the devil lately. We talk about why people want to believe, what kind of good it does (and so far, we have largely avoided what kind of harm it does), and how it is hard to believe in a man sitting in the sky, but not too hard to believe that there is something we don't understand, because nature is so awe-inspiring and so amazing and that it's hard to think in geologic terms.
I remember once, as a teenager, sitting in a shallow river bed as cold mountain melt washed over me, little river rocks shifting under me and algae and pike minnows and abrasive sand, and the sky was as high and light and pale and far as it ever seemed, and the water made a communicative song, and I believed that there could have been magic, maybe.
I love Shakespeare, and for a 500-year-old dude, he managed to hit the nail on the head a lot. I've always liked the line in Hamlet that goes, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
And also, the line of poetry of Whitman's that goes, "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes."
So perhaps you will understand that one of the reasons I will find it easier to let you go, I feel I have you to thank for. One week before your due date, I feel like you gave me a birthday present. Ridiculous. Impossible. But I feel it, nonetheless. So thank you. And happy birthday.
If you had grown up with me, you'd have known me to be a realistic optimist, a pragmatist, a skeptic. When you asked why the sky was blue, I would tell you about light. When Christmas rolled around, I would not try hard to deceive you about Santa.
We have been having long and serious talks with your older sister about God and Jesus and religion and heaven and hell and the devil lately. We talk about why people want to believe, what kind of good it does (and so far, we have largely avoided what kind of harm it does), and how it is hard to believe in a man sitting in the sky, but not too hard to believe that there is something we don't understand, because nature is so awe-inspiring and so amazing and that it's hard to think in geologic terms.
I remember once, as a teenager, sitting in a shallow river bed as cold mountain melt washed over me, little river rocks shifting under me and algae and pike minnows and abrasive sand, and the sky was as high and light and pale and far as it ever seemed, and the water made a communicative song, and I believed that there could have been magic, maybe.
I love Shakespeare, and for a 500-year-old dude, he managed to hit the nail on the head a lot. I've always liked the line in Hamlet that goes, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
And also, the line of poetry of Whitman's that goes, "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes."
So perhaps you will understand that one of the reasons I will find it easier to let you go, I feel I have you to thank for. One week before your due date, I feel like you gave me a birthday present. Ridiculous. Impossible. But I feel it, nonetheless. So thank you. And happy birthday.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Preposterous!
This morning, you declared your hot cocoa to be preposterous. You didn't quite know what that meant, so we talked about it, and decided it might be "preposterously good."
Yesterday at lunch, we talked about how settlers in covered wagons might have gotten across a mountain range.
Last night we had friends over for dinner. You read them "Because a Little Bug Went Ka-Choo," and you read so fluently that one of the friends jokingly grabbed a book on pedagogy from my shelf and asked you to read that, too. You did.
This morning, you bent my fancy lamp out of shape (for the third time), woke us up early, and have been hooting and whistling most of the morning.
These days, I post a lot of the funny things you say and do on Facebook, and I don't update this blog very frequently, but I think someday all those little things will have vanished into the ether, and you will want to know what you were like as a child, what you did and said.
And there are a few things that are too private, or too much like bragging, or not pithy enough to share with all those goofballs I went to high school once, or worked with a decade and a half ago.
Here is one of the brags: The other night, we walked to Three Sisters for dinner. You wanted to bring your book, a collection of poems I bought you. One of your favorites is a Robert Frost, mainly because it's illustrated with a fairy on a rose. On the same page is a short excerpt of The Tempest. While we waited for our food, you read that one, and then on the next page, an Emily Dickinson. So yes… you're five, and voluntarily reading Shakespeare at the dinner table.
Here is one of the private things: you've now been on your ADHD medication for four months. It does a lot of good. I still sometimes confront the friends or articles that indicate that ADHD is over-diagnosed, over-medicated. All our kids need, these people say, is a chance to have some freedom, or to spend some time outdoors, or a less-structured or more-structured school environment, or a gluten-free diet. And I briefly, guiltily question our choice to medicate you. But the thing is, you are you, yourself, not some trend or statistic or study. And when you were not on medication, you got in trouble in school, got in trouble at home, got kicked out of karate, found that all but the most hyper of the other kids avoided you, and could not sit still long enough to do the things you now enjoy -- reading, dressing dolls, writing, drawing, knitting. And it's not as though you turned into some zombie drone child: you are still energetic, funny, playful, and sometimes pretty wild and loud. For you, it has improved your day-to-day experience. For you, it has kept you out of some trouble. For you, it has expanded your friend circle. For you, it has allowed you to learn some things. For you, we've made the right choice.
Here is one of the not-pithy things: You went to your first karate tournament a couple weeks ago. Your interest in karate has ebbed and flowed, but it's been higher since the long break we took this summer. I asked if you wanted to do the tournament, and you did. We paid our registration fee, tied your hair back, put your freshly washed gi on, and drove to Auburn. There were only six kids in your age group (although this took a while to sort out -- they had initially combined the 4-5 year olds with the 6-7s, and then one very small boy kept insisting he was 6). You were the last to present, and you sat patiently while the other five went. This alone was a gratifying miracle. When it was your turn, you proudly, in loud, clear tones, introduced yourselves to the judges. You started off well, getting six steps in before you forgot what to do. You paused a long time, looked around… and I whispered, mainly to myself, "punch isa!" You heard the whisper, though, and, looking for help, turned to me. I said it again, but by then you were off your game. You finished, and thanked the judges, and sat down again.
You waited patiently then, got your scores (they were low, but not significantly lower than the other kids, leading me to believe that if you hadn't forgotten, you'd probably have earned a medal), and sat waiting. They did the math, then announced the winners of the gold, silver, and bronze medals. You were not among them. Then came the 6-7 year olds. I asked if you wanted to leave during the break, but you didn't. We watched their demonstrations, and then the judges came back to give a fourth-place ribbon to another child in your age group, but that left you as one of the only two who still didn't have anything. I asked if you wanted to leave, but you wanted to watch the flag game as well, and I think you were secretly hoping they would come back again with more ribbons. After flag game, we left. Though you had been patient and dignified in the dojo, you bawled your eyes out in the car. We talked about how next time you could practice more, and you agreed you would want to go to another tournament (although initially, you wanted to give up karate and try soccer, or ballet, or gymnastics).
Here is what I have to say about that. You choked -- it's true. And you hadn't practiced enough beforehand. That was a choice you made. But I'm still SO PROUD of you. You were patient, attentive, polite, respectful, dignified, and you even were reflective enough to understand that it was your own choices and actions (or inactions) that led to your loss. So you lost the tournament. You lost HARD. But I'm so glad for it all, because I saw you grow up a little, or perhaps you had already grown up and I hadn't noticed. One way or another, you behaved like a newer, bigger, wiser, and more patient kid than I was used to seeing, and I am so proud that you were a good loser. Next time, maybe you'll be a good winner instead, because this will push you to work harder. Not a bad lesson for $20 and a drive out to Auburn.
Anyway, I love you like crazy, and there's so much more I could say, but right now you're thumbing through one of my Japanese animation books waiting for me to be ready to go to yoga.
Love you always,
Mom
Yesterday at lunch, we talked about how settlers in covered wagons might have gotten across a mountain range.
Last night we had friends over for dinner. You read them "Because a Little Bug Went Ka-Choo," and you read so fluently that one of the friends jokingly grabbed a book on pedagogy from my shelf and asked you to read that, too. You did.
This morning, you bent my fancy lamp out of shape (for the third time), woke us up early, and have been hooting and whistling most of the morning.
These days, I post a lot of the funny things you say and do on Facebook, and I don't update this blog very frequently, but I think someday all those little things will have vanished into the ether, and you will want to know what you were like as a child, what you did and said.
And there are a few things that are too private, or too much like bragging, or not pithy enough to share with all those goofballs I went to high school once, or worked with a decade and a half ago.
Here is one of the brags: The other night, we walked to Three Sisters for dinner. You wanted to bring your book, a collection of poems I bought you. One of your favorites is a Robert Frost, mainly because it's illustrated with a fairy on a rose. On the same page is a short excerpt of The Tempest. While we waited for our food, you read that one, and then on the next page, an Emily Dickinson. So yes… you're five, and voluntarily reading Shakespeare at the dinner table.
Here is one of the private things: you've now been on your ADHD medication for four months. It does a lot of good. I still sometimes confront the friends or articles that indicate that ADHD is over-diagnosed, over-medicated. All our kids need, these people say, is a chance to have some freedom, or to spend some time outdoors, or a less-structured or more-structured school environment, or a gluten-free diet. And I briefly, guiltily question our choice to medicate you. But the thing is, you are you, yourself, not some trend or statistic or study. And when you were not on medication, you got in trouble in school, got in trouble at home, got kicked out of karate, found that all but the most hyper of the other kids avoided you, and could not sit still long enough to do the things you now enjoy -- reading, dressing dolls, writing, drawing, knitting. And it's not as though you turned into some zombie drone child: you are still energetic, funny, playful, and sometimes pretty wild and loud. For you, it has improved your day-to-day experience. For you, it has kept you out of some trouble. For you, it has expanded your friend circle. For you, it has allowed you to learn some things. For you, we've made the right choice.
Here is one of the not-pithy things: You went to your first karate tournament a couple weeks ago. Your interest in karate has ebbed and flowed, but it's been higher since the long break we took this summer. I asked if you wanted to do the tournament, and you did. We paid our registration fee, tied your hair back, put your freshly washed gi on, and drove to Auburn. There were only six kids in your age group (although this took a while to sort out -- they had initially combined the 4-5 year olds with the 6-7s, and then one very small boy kept insisting he was 6). You were the last to present, and you sat patiently while the other five went. This alone was a gratifying miracle. When it was your turn, you proudly, in loud, clear tones, introduced yourselves to the judges. You started off well, getting six steps in before you forgot what to do. You paused a long time, looked around… and I whispered, mainly to myself, "punch isa!" You heard the whisper, though, and, looking for help, turned to me. I said it again, but by then you were off your game. You finished, and thanked the judges, and sat down again.
You waited patiently then, got your scores (they were low, but not significantly lower than the other kids, leading me to believe that if you hadn't forgotten, you'd probably have earned a medal), and sat waiting. They did the math, then announced the winners of the gold, silver, and bronze medals. You were not among them. Then came the 6-7 year olds. I asked if you wanted to leave during the break, but you didn't. We watched their demonstrations, and then the judges came back to give a fourth-place ribbon to another child in your age group, but that left you as one of the only two who still didn't have anything. I asked if you wanted to leave, but you wanted to watch the flag game as well, and I think you were secretly hoping they would come back again with more ribbons. After flag game, we left. Though you had been patient and dignified in the dojo, you bawled your eyes out in the car. We talked about how next time you could practice more, and you agreed you would want to go to another tournament (although initially, you wanted to give up karate and try soccer, or ballet, or gymnastics).
Here is what I have to say about that. You choked -- it's true. And you hadn't practiced enough beforehand. That was a choice you made. But I'm still SO PROUD of you. You were patient, attentive, polite, respectful, dignified, and you even were reflective enough to understand that it was your own choices and actions (or inactions) that led to your loss. So you lost the tournament. You lost HARD. But I'm so glad for it all, because I saw you grow up a little, or perhaps you had already grown up and I hadn't noticed. One way or another, you behaved like a newer, bigger, wiser, and more patient kid than I was used to seeing, and I am so proud that you were a good loser. Next time, maybe you'll be a good winner instead, because this will push you to work harder. Not a bad lesson for $20 and a drive out to Auburn.
Anyway, I love you like crazy, and there's so much more I could say, but right now you're thumbing through one of my Japanese animation books waiting for me to be ready to go to yoga.
Love you always,
Mom
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Just after 3am, you'll have been living and breathing for five years. Well, breathing successfully took a bit longer. But that means that at this time five years ago, I was at 33rd street bistro having breakfast. My water had broken already, but I had been turned away from the hospital. You were already three days overdue, and I thought we would have you on Spring Break, but that week had come and gone. This was my first day of already-scheduled maternity leave, so I wasn't going to work. It was a quiet morning. All hell broke loose later, when I had a doctor's appointment and he insisted I go directly to the hospital and be induced.
It's amazing to think that so much time has elapsed. You have now been part of your father's and my lives for longer than you haven't (by which I mean, your dad and I had been together for just less than five years when we had you). In a few months, you'll be in kindergarten -- you're already enrolled -- and you'll be in the care of a teacher for 3 1/2 hours a day. It is shocking, and yet perfectly natural. You're my baby, and yet you are your own quite independent little person. Let me tell you a little bit about yourself right now.
You can read pretty well, although you're not much interested in reading stories to yourself. But as we drive along the street, you yell out "Shell!" "Pets!" "Tacos! Hey, can we stop there? They have tacos." Today you read several things in the program at the ballet. You play with language a lot, too, switching up sounds and things to make puns that are occasionally not bad.
You love camping, hiking, and the outdoors a lot. I offered to take you to Effie Yeaw nature center for a walk on your birthday, and you wouldn't even hear of other suggestions after that. Your artwork is getting much more recognizable. It's generally obvious now if you've made a flower or a tree or a bee. You still like to pretend, but it's not as constant an undertaking as it once was. Maybe six months ago, if I forgot for a second that I was Mary Ingalls and you were Laura, I would be soundly yelled at. Now, we pretend a few times a week.
You've finished The Hobbit and the first two Lord of the Rings books. You're nearing the end of the third. In the meantime, we've also read some longer chapter books, like The Wizard of Dark Street. We just started The Cats of Tanglewood Forest.
You're still not a good sleeper. I have done everything I can think of -- blackout curtains, a white noise machine, no TV right before bedtime, a bedtime routine -- and although the melatonin we've started helps you get to sleep at bedtime, you still often wake in the night. I have to chalk it up to an essential part of your nature. You're just energetic, kinetic, and wiggly.
You like TV, but not so much that I'm worried about you turning into a Roald Dahl character. We limit it to about an hour and ten minutes per day (including iPad time, although sometimes we push it a little), and there are times when you really wish time wasn't up. But then there are also days when you never ask to watch and we don't remind you, so you don't watch any at all.
A few people were commenting on how much you loved your dresses and high heels. You were indeed VERY excited to get high heeled shoes for your birthday (I have said no, but your grandma asked if she could buy you some, and I said it was fine). It's true that you like those things, but I appreciate that you're not a super-girly-girl, either. You like science a lot, and bugs, and roughhousing. I think you're a pretty well-balanced kid.
Sometimes you're a challenge. Like, seriously. You believe anything can be argued, and you argue semantics constantly. "We've told you a hundred times not to throw things in the house!" "But I didn't throw it. I tossed it." You also have no idea that you don't have the authority and standing to make your own rules, or that your parents can totally tell you what to do. If you had been raised by other people in another era, you'd have been smacked in the mouth on thousands of occasions. Every time we ask you, in serious voice, to do or not do something, you continue to do your own thing while reasoning it out, "Well, actually..."
As far as day to day stuff goes, you wear lots of different kinds of clothes, many dresses, jeans, leggings... Your favorite dress is probably your plaid Christmas dress, so I just let you wear it whenever. It'll be too small my next year, so I don't care if you destroy it by wearing it to the park. You will eat almost anything as long as there is no hint whatsoever of spiciness. You are terrified of spicy! Even mint gum is a little much for you. Other than that, though, you'll eat Mexican, Indian, Vietnamese... your favorite is still noodles, though. You initially requested the Old Spaghetti Factory as your birthday dinner, but then realized you could request Roxy, so you had a steak for your birthday.
Your best friend is Damien. He lives across the street from McKinley Park, and you've been in pre-school with him for two years. You both say you want to marry each other, and when you see each other after a few days apart, you usually run to each other, arms out, yelling each other's names. When parting, you frequently yell, "I love you." Both of you do. It's sweet as hell, and just a little terrifying. Next year, you won't go to the same school. I'm hoping we can still find time to meet his family for playdates, but I'm sure you'll drift apart and find new friends, too.
You're in karate, and sometimes you try really hard and show an aptitude for it. I also sometimes hear you thinking things out a a very positive, martial-arts way. We talk a lot about "emptying your cup," which is how your teacher, Mr. Oliver, describes letting things in your mind go. Other times, you declare that you hate karate and want to quit. I think you're bummed out that you haven't progressed at getting the belts as quickly as some of your friends, but it has to do with the wiggly silliness that's a pretty much constant presence in your life. You don't get a stripe on your belt if you don't behave in class, and it's a real effort for you to behave all the way through class. But I think it's good for you overall, and I'm going to press you to stay in it for a while.
Well, I've written this in fits and spurts all day, and it's now almost 7pm. Five years ago today, we had arrived at the hospital and I think I was having my last bite of food before they induced labor. I do lots of things in the few quiet moments between when you need me and need me again. I don't mind it, because the day will come when you don't really need me at all, and that will be the proudest and saddest day of my life. And there probably won't even be a candle to blow out. It will happen gradually, and neither of us may even ever notice. You'll probably think you'll always need me. But we've been talking a lot about the difference between wants and needs, and if I do my job, you'll just want me sometimes. I hope.
It's amazing to think that so much time has elapsed. You have now been part of your father's and my lives for longer than you haven't (by which I mean, your dad and I had been together for just less than five years when we had you). In a few months, you'll be in kindergarten -- you're already enrolled -- and you'll be in the care of a teacher for 3 1/2 hours a day. It is shocking, and yet perfectly natural. You're my baby, and yet you are your own quite independent little person. Let me tell you a little bit about yourself right now.
You can read pretty well, although you're not much interested in reading stories to yourself. But as we drive along the street, you yell out "Shell!" "Pets!" "Tacos! Hey, can we stop there? They have tacos." Today you read several things in the program at the ballet. You play with language a lot, too, switching up sounds and things to make puns that are occasionally not bad.
You love camping, hiking, and the outdoors a lot. I offered to take you to Effie Yeaw nature center for a walk on your birthday, and you wouldn't even hear of other suggestions after that. Your artwork is getting much more recognizable. It's generally obvious now if you've made a flower or a tree or a bee. You still like to pretend, but it's not as constant an undertaking as it once was. Maybe six months ago, if I forgot for a second that I was Mary Ingalls and you were Laura, I would be soundly yelled at. Now, we pretend a few times a week.
You've finished The Hobbit and the first two Lord of the Rings books. You're nearing the end of the third. In the meantime, we've also read some longer chapter books, like The Wizard of Dark Street. We just started The Cats of Tanglewood Forest.
You're still not a good sleeper. I have done everything I can think of -- blackout curtains, a white noise machine, no TV right before bedtime, a bedtime routine -- and although the melatonin we've started helps you get to sleep at bedtime, you still often wake in the night. I have to chalk it up to an essential part of your nature. You're just energetic, kinetic, and wiggly.
You like TV, but not so much that I'm worried about you turning into a Roald Dahl character. We limit it to about an hour and ten minutes per day (including iPad time, although sometimes we push it a little), and there are times when you really wish time wasn't up. But then there are also days when you never ask to watch and we don't remind you, so you don't watch any at all.
A few people were commenting on how much you loved your dresses and high heels. You were indeed VERY excited to get high heeled shoes for your birthday (I have said no, but your grandma asked if she could buy you some, and I said it was fine). It's true that you like those things, but I appreciate that you're not a super-girly-girl, either. You like science a lot, and bugs, and roughhousing. I think you're a pretty well-balanced kid.
Sometimes you're a challenge. Like, seriously. You believe anything can be argued, and you argue semantics constantly. "We've told you a hundred times not to throw things in the house!" "But I didn't throw it. I tossed it." You also have no idea that you don't have the authority and standing to make your own rules, or that your parents can totally tell you what to do. If you had been raised by other people in another era, you'd have been smacked in the mouth on thousands of occasions. Every time we ask you, in serious voice, to do or not do something, you continue to do your own thing while reasoning it out, "Well, actually..."
As far as day to day stuff goes, you wear lots of different kinds of clothes, many dresses, jeans, leggings... Your favorite dress is probably your plaid Christmas dress, so I just let you wear it whenever. It'll be too small my next year, so I don't care if you destroy it by wearing it to the park. You will eat almost anything as long as there is no hint whatsoever of spiciness. You are terrified of spicy! Even mint gum is a little much for you. Other than that, though, you'll eat Mexican, Indian, Vietnamese... your favorite is still noodles, though. You initially requested the Old Spaghetti Factory as your birthday dinner, but then realized you could request Roxy, so you had a steak for your birthday.
Your best friend is Damien. He lives across the street from McKinley Park, and you've been in pre-school with him for two years. You both say you want to marry each other, and when you see each other after a few days apart, you usually run to each other, arms out, yelling each other's names. When parting, you frequently yell, "I love you." Both of you do. It's sweet as hell, and just a little terrifying. Next year, you won't go to the same school. I'm hoping we can still find time to meet his family for playdates, but I'm sure you'll drift apart and find new friends, too.
You're in karate, and sometimes you try really hard and show an aptitude for it. I also sometimes hear you thinking things out a a very positive, martial-arts way. We talk a lot about "emptying your cup," which is how your teacher, Mr. Oliver, describes letting things in your mind go. Other times, you declare that you hate karate and want to quit. I think you're bummed out that you haven't progressed at getting the belts as quickly as some of your friends, but it has to do with the wiggly silliness that's a pretty much constant presence in your life. You don't get a stripe on your belt if you don't behave in class, and it's a real effort for you to behave all the way through class. But I think it's good for you overall, and I'm going to press you to stay in it for a while.
Well, I've written this in fits and spurts all day, and it's now almost 7pm. Five years ago today, we had arrived at the hospital and I think I was having my last bite of food before they induced labor. I do lots of things in the few quiet moments between when you need me and need me again. I don't mind it, because the day will come when you don't really need me at all, and that will be the proudest and saddest day of my life. And there probably won't even be a candle to blow out. It will happen gradually, and neither of us may even ever notice. You'll probably think you'll always need me. But we've been talking a lot about the difference between wants and needs, and if I do my job, you'll just want me sometimes. I hope.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
You are four years old
And how can I encapsulate you in one little blog entry? Well, I can't, of course. But what has struck me lately about who you are, and what will you want to know in twenty years' time?
Probably this: You are incredibly smart. I'm making an effort not to praise you just for being smart, but rather for working hard, overcoming challenges, solving problems, etc. Because you can't help being smart, and you're not doing anything in particular to be smart, you just are that. It would be like praising you for having a wee nose. But it's so apparent to everyone we meet that your intelligence gets commented on, and praised, a whole lot.
How does it come out? Well, your speech is phenomenal. Not that you don't still usually gloss over your Ls, but rather, there are a few other things. First, your vocabulary is staggering. You'll toss words like "phenomenal" into everyday speech. But your speech patterns are interesting, too. You're quick to catch on to idioms, turns of phrase, and all the little ways we wind clauses and phrases together. Your speech can tend to sound very adult because of it.
Another way your intelligence comes out is in your reasoning. You can try to argue down anyone, for any reason, on any topic. It's not always perfect logic, but it's enough to give us all a hint that in a few years, you're going to be scary.
You love learning, too. You spell things, listen to spellings and sound out the words, and invent spellings for things you don't know. "D-A-M-E-N!" you proudly announced the other day. Damien is your friend in school, and though you hadn't got it exactly right, it was good enough for me to know what you meant. Daddy woke you up the other night when he jostled you, and in your sleep, you murmured, "B-O-D-C-O-A." You also told me a few days ago, "I love you more than I love science, and I love science this much!" and you spread your arms wide.
What else? You are interested in books that are written for older kids. In the last few weeks, we've read two Harry Potter books and Roald Dahl's Mathilda. And you get somewhat obsessed. I've been speaking in an English accent for weeks, because if I stop, you'll remind me, "We're pretending! You're Ron, and I'm Hermione."
You will eat nearly anything. I'm so proud that you're a good eater, and I have to hold my tongue sometimes when other parents complain that their kids won't eat vegetables. I made a canellini bean, sweet potato and chard casserole last week, and you ate all your portion, exclaiming that it was the best thing I'd ever made. Of course, your favorite is sweets, and we have to limit those. If there's candy around, you'll find it and unwrap it, then laugh as you show me you're eating it. I nearly lost my cool today: I had baked the chocolate cake for your birthday, and when I briefly left the room, I saw that you had nicked a small piece from one of the layers.
You have recently decided that you hate pink and love only purple and teal, although you still dress yourself in pink when you have the option to choose your clothes. You actually are doing a lot more on your own lately -- taking off your Pull-up after bed, taking your jammies off, choosing your outfit and putting it on, getting your shoes on... And you have chores. We ask you to take your laundry to the washer, to put your books away in your room, to wipe the table after dinner, and now, to vacuum the living room rug. You actually seem happy and proud to help. I think it makes you feel grown-up.
You are capable of being very sweet. You love to cuddle, and even if you and I are doing different activities, say, if I'm on the computer and you're watching TV, you like to sit on my lap. You are working hard on using your manners and asking for things politely, although it's still a bit of a struggle.
And there are challenges, too. From the moment I could feel you kicking at about 4 months along, I knew you were more active and energetic than most kids. It is... noticeable. You really never slow down. A fellow preschooler's mom was kind enough to call you "kinetic" the other day. And there are times that you will talk nearly nonstop. And you are not so much a limit-tester as a boundary-knocker-downer and see what happens. If there is a limit, you won't simply test it, but hammer at it, sand-blast it, double-check it for faults, move it while we're not looking, and pole-vault over it and back. You have never heard "no" that you didn't come back with, "Well, actually..." or "what if...?" And you are a born negotiator. "I'll cuddle for five more minutes, but then I have to get up," I might say. You have never said, "Okay." Your answer is, "Firteen minutes!"
I love you dearly, and I wouldn't change a hair on your head for a million dollars, but you are a little exhausting sometimes.
Right now you are sleeping, curled up next to Dad, surely far over into his territory in the bed. Soon I'll move you to yours, and you'll probably sleep through the night. That's been true more often than not lately, and I'm appreciative of it. Your potty habits are getting much more regulated, and much more your responsibility. In terms of actual caring for you, there's not that much to do anymore -- you get the food to your mouth, dress yourself (sometimes multiple times per day), go to the bathroom -- but instructing you in life is another matter. Those conversations are harder and more serious every day, and I only hope I'm doing it right.
I love you very much,
Mom
Probably this: You are incredibly smart. I'm making an effort not to praise you just for being smart, but rather for working hard, overcoming challenges, solving problems, etc. Because you can't help being smart, and you're not doing anything in particular to be smart, you just are that. It would be like praising you for having a wee nose. But it's so apparent to everyone we meet that your intelligence gets commented on, and praised, a whole lot.
How does it come out? Well, your speech is phenomenal. Not that you don't still usually gloss over your Ls, but rather, there are a few other things. First, your vocabulary is staggering. You'll toss words like "phenomenal" into everyday speech. But your speech patterns are interesting, too. You're quick to catch on to idioms, turns of phrase, and all the little ways we wind clauses and phrases together. Your speech can tend to sound very adult because of it.
Another way your intelligence comes out is in your reasoning. You can try to argue down anyone, for any reason, on any topic. It's not always perfect logic, but it's enough to give us all a hint that in a few years, you're going to be scary.
You love learning, too. You spell things, listen to spellings and sound out the words, and invent spellings for things you don't know. "D-A-M-E-N!" you proudly announced the other day. Damien is your friend in school, and though you hadn't got it exactly right, it was good enough for me to know what you meant. Daddy woke you up the other night when he jostled you, and in your sleep, you murmured, "B-O-D-C-O-A." You also told me a few days ago, "I love you more than I love science, and I love science this much!" and you spread your arms wide.
What else? You are interested in books that are written for older kids. In the last few weeks, we've read two Harry Potter books and Roald Dahl's Mathilda. And you get somewhat obsessed. I've been speaking in an English accent for weeks, because if I stop, you'll remind me, "We're pretending! You're Ron, and I'm Hermione."
You will eat nearly anything. I'm so proud that you're a good eater, and I have to hold my tongue sometimes when other parents complain that their kids won't eat vegetables. I made a canellini bean, sweet potato and chard casserole last week, and you ate all your portion, exclaiming that it was the best thing I'd ever made. Of course, your favorite is sweets, and we have to limit those. If there's candy around, you'll find it and unwrap it, then laugh as you show me you're eating it. I nearly lost my cool today: I had baked the chocolate cake for your birthday, and when I briefly left the room, I saw that you had nicked a small piece from one of the layers.
You have recently decided that you hate pink and love only purple and teal, although you still dress yourself in pink when you have the option to choose your clothes. You actually are doing a lot more on your own lately -- taking off your Pull-up after bed, taking your jammies off, choosing your outfit and putting it on, getting your shoes on... And you have chores. We ask you to take your laundry to the washer, to put your books away in your room, to wipe the table after dinner, and now, to vacuum the living room rug. You actually seem happy and proud to help. I think it makes you feel grown-up.
You are capable of being very sweet. You love to cuddle, and even if you and I are doing different activities, say, if I'm on the computer and you're watching TV, you like to sit on my lap. You are working hard on using your manners and asking for things politely, although it's still a bit of a struggle.
And there are challenges, too. From the moment I could feel you kicking at about 4 months along, I knew you were more active and energetic than most kids. It is... noticeable. You really never slow down. A fellow preschooler's mom was kind enough to call you "kinetic" the other day. And there are times that you will talk nearly nonstop. And you are not so much a limit-tester as a boundary-knocker-downer and see what happens. If there is a limit, you won't simply test it, but hammer at it, sand-blast it, double-check it for faults, move it while we're not looking, and pole-vault over it and back. You have never heard "no" that you didn't come back with, "Well, actually..." or "what if...?" And you are a born negotiator. "I'll cuddle for five more minutes, but then I have to get up," I might say. You have never said, "Okay." Your answer is, "Firteen minutes!"
I love you dearly, and I wouldn't change a hair on your head for a million dollars, but you are a little exhausting sometimes.
Right now you are sleeping, curled up next to Dad, surely far over into his territory in the bed. Soon I'll move you to yours, and you'll probably sleep through the night. That's been true more often than not lately, and I'm appreciative of it. Your potty habits are getting much more regulated, and much more your responsibility. In terms of actual caring for you, there's not that much to do anymore -- you get the food to your mouth, dress yourself (sometimes multiple times per day), go to the bathroom -- but instructing you in life is another matter. Those conversations are harder and more serious every day, and I only hope I'm doing it right.
I love you very much,
Mom
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Almost three
I haven't blogged here in a long time, and I feel bad about it, but there are good reasons, too. First, I've got a two-year-old! I'm busy! You often drag out the bedtime process, then I have a tornado to clean up. Also, it's actually a lot harder to quantify and list al the progress you make now. It used to be "Hey look, you know twelve words," and now it's "Hey, listen to this story that shows you understand elements of rhetoric and persuasion!" And finally, I've been putting a lot of stuff on Facebook, so the little cute stories from day-to-day end up there.
However, I do keep this, or try to, as a record for you. So to list some of your accomplishments -- you have been doing really well in pre-school. For as crazy as you can be at home sometimes, you are the model student. Even when other kids push or grab toys, you are polite and restrained. At a recent birthday party, some boys were playing rough, and you opted to leave rather than push back (and voiced very clearly that you had made that decision).
Your language use is unbelievable. It's impossible to talk about your vocabulary any longer, because it surpasses any kid your age I've ever met. What I can talk about a little bit is your language use. I mean, your sentence structure is so sophisticated. You use complex, compound, complex-compound, and all kinds of appositives, parentheticals... I mean, your use of language shows a really amazing innate understanding of language structure. Even your mistakes show understanding of the rules. Like, if you say "I goed to school," it follows from the rule that past tense usually has an -ed ending. Same with pluralizing mouse as mouses. You're following the rules in cases where the words themselves break them. It's really smart, even though it's wrong. And you pick it up fast when you hear the rule. Yesterday I corrected you on "mice" vs. "mouses," and today you brought it up again: "One mouse, two mice."
Better than that, even, is what you use language to DO -- you tell the most amazing stories, describe dreamy musings, pretend to be different characters... And you love to play with language. Pig latin, rhymes, puns, and our favorite -- replacing some sounds with others, as in turning "Twinkle twinkle little star" to "binkle binkle bittle bar."
Physically, you're just about 37 inches now (a little less, perhaps, but it's hard to get a good measurement). You're getting so good at using a fork, drinking from a glass, jitterbugging with Boompah, climbing anywhere. You haven't gained a single pound in over a year now, although you've gotten so much taller.
Your memory is unbelievable. I have stopped recording all the times that you bring something up from six months ago. But a few days ago, you asked Grandma why she had planted flowers for your birthday party. That was almost a year ago, and Grandma swears you and she haven't talked about it since.
You are very sweet and affectionate. You like to help out. We recently gave you a chore -- wiping down your place at the table after we eat -- and you do it with enthusiasm. Potty training is almost finished. You still wear a diaper at night, and you have recalcitrant days where we have to change panties 5 or 6 times because you leaked a little, but we're not having many big accidents.
Maybe most amazing is that you're getting really close to reading. There are a handful of words you recognize, plus you can spell a few words. You know most of the letters and what sounds they make most of the time. We sometimes spell things out to keep them from you, and it's not going to work for long. Today we had this conversation.
Me (to Grandma): I think I might get her a P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S D-R-E-S-S for her birthday.
You: What's D-R-E-S-S?
Me and Grandma: Well... what sound does D make?
You: Duh.
Me: And what about R?
You: Ruh.
Grandma: What about E?
You: Uh....
Me: Let's skip that one. What about S?
You: Ssss.
Me: Well, what do those say when you put them together?
You: DRESS!
Anyway, you're a lot of fun almost all the time. You are also strong-willed and independent and argumentative, and sometimes that makes things really hard around here, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm really hoping that it carries you into adulthood and that you remain independent, as hard as that will sometimes be for all of us.
However, I do keep this, or try to, as a record for you. So to list some of your accomplishments -- you have been doing really well in pre-school. For as crazy as you can be at home sometimes, you are the model student. Even when other kids push or grab toys, you are polite and restrained. At a recent birthday party, some boys were playing rough, and you opted to leave rather than push back (and voiced very clearly that you had made that decision).
Your language use is unbelievable. It's impossible to talk about your vocabulary any longer, because it surpasses any kid your age I've ever met. What I can talk about a little bit is your language use. I mean, your sentence structure is so sophisticated. You use complex, compound, complex-compound, and all kinds of appositives, parentheticals... I mean, your use of language shows a really amazing innate understanding of language structure. Even your mistakes show understanding of the rules. Like, if you say "I goed to school," it follows from the rule that past tense usually has an -ed ending. Same with pluralizing mouse as mouses. You're following the rules in cases where the words themselves break them. It's really smart, even though it's wrong. And you pick it up fast when you hear the rule. Yesterday I corrected you on "mice" vs. "mouses," and today you brought it up again: "One mouse, two mice."
Better than that, even, is what you use language to DO -- you tell the most amazing stories, describe dreamy musings, pretend to be different characters... And you love to play with language. Pig latin, rhymes, puns, and our favorite -- replacing some sounds with others, as in turning "Twinkle twinkle little star" to "binkle binkle bittle bar."
Physically, you're just about 37 inches now (a little less, perhaps, but it's hard to get a good measurement). You're getting so good at using a fork, drinking from a glass, jitterbugging with Boompah, climbing anywhere. You haven't gained a single pound in over a year now, although you've gotten so much taller.
Your memory is unbelievable. I have stopped recording all the times that you bring something up from six months ago. But a few days ago, you asked Grandma why she had planted flowers for your birthday party. That was almost a year ago, and Grandma swears you and she haven't talked about it since.
You are very sweet and affectionate. You like to help out. We recently gave you a chore -- wiping down your place at the table after we eat -- and you do it with enthusiasm. Potty training is almost finished. You still wear a diaper at night, and you have recalcitrant days where we have to change panties 5 or 6 times because you leaked a little, but we're not having many big accidents.
Maybe most amazing is that you're getting really close to reading. There are a handful of words you recognize, plus you can spell a few words. You know most of the letters and what sounds they make most of the time. We sometimes spell things out to keep them from you, and it's not going to work for long. Today we had this conversation.
Me (to Grandma): I think I might get her a P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S D-R-E-S-S for her birthday.
You: What's D-R-E-S-S?
Me and Grandma: Well... what sound does D make?
You: Duh.
Me: And what about R?
You: Ruh.
Grandma: What about E?
You: Uh....
Me: Let's skip that one. What about S?
You: Ssss.
Me: Well, what do those say when you put them together?
You: DRESS!
Anyway, you're a lot of fun almost all the time. You are also strong-willed and independent and argumentative, and sometimes that makes things really hard around here, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm really hoping that it carries you into adulthood and that you remain independent, as hard as that will sometimes be for all of us.
Monday, June 28, 2010
2 years, 3 months
Hi darling,
I'm so sorry I haven't updated this in so long. When you're awake, I spend most of my time chasing after you, and when you're asleep, I try to get to the gym or tidy the house or grade papers or one of a thousand other things.
I have been recording a lot of what you do and say on my other blog, but I had a goal with this one, and that was to dedicate it to you and your progress so that someday you could read all about yourself if you choose to. Anyway, I'm sorry. Writing once a month isn't too hard to do, and I should make an effort to keep it up.
Well, the big news today is that we just got back from our annual trip to Eugene, Oregon. Everyone in our family commented on how tall you are, how beautiful you are, and especially how smart and verbal you are. I think your speech has changed and improved even in the last week. You use complex and compound (and compound-complex) sentences to express your ideas, you can tell little stories, you have funny new intonations... You suddenly sound incredibly... conversational. Today at the post office, you asked some stranger "How's it going?" She answered, "I'm pretty good, how are you?" You said "very well." While we were in Oregon, you asked why we couldn't see the crescent moon. We explained that sometimes we could see more of the moon than others. You said "Oh, well, I think it's broken. I think a monster took a bite of it." You've also gone from the typical two-year-old demands of "I want gum!" to "Can I have something? Well, I was thinking about gum." (Not that you don't sometimes still fuss and demand.)
You are also exceptionally interested in hearing other people talk and tell stories. You insist on us telling you stories all the time, and have on several occasions, right after I've kissed you goodnight, grabbed me and insisted, "talk to me!" You also demand to know what everyone is saying in the songs on the radio, and why they are saying it. Today we had a long conversation about why someone might hang their head, what they might have done to make them feel sad or ashamed, and how they might need their mommy to help them feel better. I sang you a snippet of "Hello, Goodbye" the other day, and you had a whole theory as to why the girl might tell the boy goodbye and no, and that maybe she didn't want to go on a date with him. You have strong feelings about "Tell Me Why," and you really want to know why the girl cried. I find this attention to lyrics especially interesting, because I am so interested in lyrics myself. People are always saying "Ooh, I love the way they use the zither in that song!" and I'll be like "the what?" But I know all the lyrics by heart.
We met your newest cousin (or first cousin once removed), Aidan, on this trip. He is 7 weeks old, and he waves his little hands around, occasionally getting them in just the right spot to keep his pacifier in, just as you did. But the contrast of how you move now is startling! Everything you do is so intentional. You insist on climbing up into your carseat by yourself. You put your shoes on and try hard to get the strap into the buckle. You can put Barbie shoes on -- not consistently, but often, and you do NOT want help. I even watched you in half-sleep one night as you tucked a doll into the crook of your arm, pulled the blanket up to your chin, and adjusted the pillow under your head. It kind of blew my mind -- just one year ago, we put you to sleep in a fleece bag because you couldn't pull up your blanket if you kicked it off by accident. Now you're practically making the bed.
One day a few weeks ago, I came home after you had spent some time with your dad, and you were both singing a little song. It was simple -- three descending "mmms," then a name like "Little Bear" or "Mama Bear" or "Papa Bear." I thought your dad had made it up and you had picked it up to copy him. Then you were singing the "helping hand" song, a song that neither your Grandma nor I can explain where it comes from. It always has the same melody and the same, slightly indecipherable, lyrics. I finally became convinced you had simply made it up, and I was telling your auntie that, when your dad piped in and said you had made up the Little Bear song, too. I'm sure many kids make up their own little songs, but this sort of makes my head explode, too. You've made up your own songs? I mean... wow.
You are the reigning queen of loopholes, by the way. We told you you couldn't say "go away" anymore, and that you'd have a time-out if you did. So you started just saying "go," then looking at us slyly. Sometimes you got to "go ahhh...." but then stopped. Then you started saying go away again, but you insisted each time that you hadn't been telling US to go away -- you had aimed your ire at Max, the imaginary elephant. You couldn't get in trouble if you weren't saying it to us, right? When we caught on and outlawed saying it even to our imaginary compatriots, you made up a third song. "I'm singing go away, go away, go away." Yeah, we banned that song. For a while, you tried other variations on the theme, like "Mo amay" and "fo afay." Then you started saying the "rain, rain, go away" rhyme, but really punching the "go away" part. Sometimes we have to work hard to keep a straight face at just how clever you are.
Well, you're awake from a nap now, and you are "doing some work" on a Barbie shoe. I'd better return to my normally scheduled life.
I love you more than you could ever imagine.
Mom
I'm so sorry I haven't updated this in so long. When you're awake, I spend most of my time chasing after you, and when you're asleep, I try to get to the gym or tidy the house or grade papers or one of a thousand other things.
I have been recording a lot of what you do and say on my other blog, but I had a goal with this one, and that was to dedicate it to you and your progress so that someday you could read all about yourself if you choose to. Anyway, I'm sorry. Writing once a month isn't too hard to do, and I should make an effort to keep it up.
Well, the big news today is that we just got back from our annual trip to Eugene, Oregon. Everyone in our family commented on how tall you are, how beautiful you are, and especially how smart and verbal you are. I think your speech has changed and improved even in the last week. You use complex and compound (and compound-complex) sentences to express your ideas, you can tell little stories, you have funny new intonations... You suddenly sound incredibly... conversational. Today at the post office, you asked some stranger "How's it going?" She answered, "I'm pretty good, how are you?" You said "very well." While we were in Oregon, you asked why we couldn't see the crescent moon. We explained that sometimes we could see more of the moon than others. You said "Oh, well, I think it's broken. I think a monster took a bite of it." You've also gone from the typical two-year-old demands of "I want gum!" to "Can I have something? Well, I was thinking about gum." (Not that you don't sometimes still fuss and demand.)
You are also exceptionally interested in hearing other people talk and tell stories. You insist on us telling you stories all the time, and have on several occasions, right after I've kissed you goodnight, grabbed me and insisted, "talk to me!" You also demand to know what everyone is saying in the songs on the radio, and why they are saying it. Today we had a long conversation about why someone might hang their head, what they might have done to make them feel sad or ashamed, and how they might need their mommy to help them feel better. I sang you a snippet of "Hello, Goodbye" the other day, and you had a whole theory as to why the girl might tell the boy goodbye and no, and that maybe she didn't want to go on a date with him. You have strong feelings about "Tell Me Why," and you really want to know why the girl cried. I find this attention to lyrics especially interesting, because I am so interested in lyrics myself. People are always saying "Ooh, I love the way they use the zither in that song!" and I'll be like "the what?" But I know all the lyrics by heart.
We met your newest cousin (or first cousin once removed), Aidan, on this trip. He is 7 weeks old, and he waves his little hands around, occasionally getting them in just the right spot to keep his pacifier in, just as you did. But the contrast of how you move now is startling! Everything you do is so intentional. You insist on climbing up into your carseat by yourself. You put your shoes on and try hard to get the strap into the buckle. You can put Barbie shoes on -- not consistently, but often, and you do NOT want help. I even watched you in half-sleep one night as you tucked a doll into the crook of your arm, pulled the blanket up to your chin, and adjusted the pillow under your head. It kind of blew my mind -- just one year ago, we put you to sleep in a fleece bag because you couldn't pull up your blanket if you kicked it off by accident. Now you're practically making the bed.
One day a few weeks ago, I came home after you had spent some time with your dad, and you were both singing a little song. It was simple -- three descending "mmms," then a name like "Little Bear" or "Mama Bear" or "Papa Bear." I thought your dad had made it up and you had picked it up to copy him. Then you were singing the "helping hand" song, a song that neither your Grandma nor I can explain where it comes from. It always has the same melody and the same, slightly indecipherable, lyrics. I finally became convinced you had simply made it up, and I was telling your auntie that, when your dad piped in and said you had made up the Little Bear song, too. I'm sure many kids make up their own little songs, but this sort of makes my head explode, too. You've made up your own songs? I mean... wow.
You are the reigning queen of loopholes, by the way. We told you you couldn't say "go away" anymore, and that you'd have a time-out if you did. So you started just saying "go," then looking at us slyly. Sometimes you got to "go ahhh...." but then stopped. Then you started saying go away again, but you insisted each time that you hadn't been telling US to go away -- you had aimed your ire at Max, the imaginary elephant. You couldn't get in trouble if you weren't saying it to us, right? When we caught on and outlawed saying it even to our imaginary compatriots, you made up a third song. "I'm singing go away, go away, go away." Yeah, we banned that song. For a while, you tried other variations on the theme, like "Mo amay" and "fo afay." Then you started saying the "rain, rain, go away" rhyme, but really punching the "go away" part. Sometimes we have to work hard to keep a straight face at just how clever you are.
Well, you're awake from a nap now, and you are "doing some work" on a Barbie shoe. I'd better return to my normally scheduled life.
I love you more than you could ever imagine.
Mom
Thursday, February 25, 2010
23 months!
Holy cow, I can't believe how fast the time passes.
I think the most interesting recent development is that you are telling jokes and playing pranks. For example, you've had your "one-two boobie" joke for months, but recently you asked what a babysitter was. Grandma explained, and you asked "Are you going to sit on a baby?" Grandma laughed, so you keep asking "Are you going to sit on a baby?"
Also, the other night I was walking in your room and I stepped on something hidden under your rug. I yelled "ouch!" I looked under the rug and there was a parasol. I pulled it out and set it aside. The next morning, "ouch!" again. I looked under the rug and there was the parasol. Apparently, you got into the car with Grandma and said "I put the umbrella under the rug again." Last night I asked you to tell a friend of mine what you'd been doing, and you totally admitted it: "I put the umbrella under the rug. Mama stepped on it. She said 'Ouch.'" Little prankster.
You are interested in longer stories now. You make up words. Like, you'll say, "Bazoop! What did I say?" You also think it's really funny to pretend to be a baby. You rarely grin wider than when I agree to feed you, or you crawl on the floor announcing "I'm a baby! Ga ga goo goo!"
You like the name game a lot, and I'll catch you singing "Boompah boompah bo boompah banana fanna fo foompah."
You try to help, like moving clean laundry from one pile to another as I fold it. You also helped put laundry in the washer once. And you like to pull shredded paper out of the shredder, then get the broom and sweep it around.
You're really excited that we can put pigtails in your hair, and you frequently ask for pigtails. You have also gotten a lot more interested in your wardrobe, and you'll ask to wear a particular outfit.
You're still an enormous eater. I think your new favorite food is mortadella, of all things. You're so active, though, that you burn off all that energy. In fact, you're still only 28 pounds. But you just hardly ever stop moving, bouncing, running, climbing...
As for nursing, it's on its way out. On Monday, you didn't nurse at all. You now nurse for just a few seconds before getting distracted. Or you'll tell me "Mama, you don't have any booby milk!" Until a few weeks ago, you still said I had milk, so I think it was the day without nursing that helped dry up my milk. I've planted a few suggestions about how big girls don't nurse, but I'm not pushing you. I also decided to stop taking my herbs when I run out this time, whether you're done or not. At this point, I think it's much more about comfort than milk anyway.
Next month is your birthday, and of course I've already gotten all your presents. Daddy and I are really excited about the stuff we picked out -- a ballet outfit, recycling truck, tool kit, a book called Flotsam, and a play tent.
I love you tremendously,
Mom
I think the most interesting recent development is that you are telling jokes and playing pranks. For example, you've had your "one-two boobie" joke for months, but recently you asked what a babysitter was. Grandma explained, and you asked "Are you going to sit on a baby?" Grandma laughed, so you keep asking "Are you going to sit on a baby?"
Also, the other night I was walking in your room and I stepped on something hidden under your rug. I yelled "ouch!" I looked under the rug and there was a parasol. I pulled it out and set it aside. The next morning, "ouch!" again. I looked under the rug and there was the parasol. Apparently, you got into the car with Grandma and said "I put the umbrella under the rug again." Last night I asked you to tell a friend of mine what you'd been doing, and you totally admitted it: "I put the umbrella under the rug. Mama stepped on it. She said 'Ouch.'" Little prankster.
You are interested in longer stories now. You make up words. Like, you'll say, "Bazoop! What did I say?" You also think it's really funny to pretend to be a baby. You rarely grin wider than when I agree to feed you, or you crawl on the floor announcing "I'm a baby! Ga ga goo goo!"
You like the name game a lot, and I'll catch you singing "Boompah boompah bo boompah banana fanna fo foompah."
You try to help, like moving clean laundry from one pile to another as I fold it. You also helped put laundry in the washer once. And you like to pull shredded paper out of the shredder, then get the broom and sweep it around.
You're really excited that we can put pigtails in your hair, and you frequently ask for pigtails. You have also gotten a lot more interested in your wardrobe, and you'll ask to wear a particular outfit.
You're still an enormous eater. I think your new favorite food is mortadella, of all things. You're so active, though, that you burn off all that energy. In fact, you're still only 28 pounds. But you just hardly ever stop moving, bouncing, running, climbing...
As for nursing, it's on its way out. On Monday, you didn't nurse at all. You now nurse for just a few seconds before getting distracted. Or you'll tell me "Mama, you don't have any booby milk!" Until a few weeks ago, you still said I had milk, so I think it was the day without nursing that helped dry up my milk. I've planted a few suggestions about how big girls don't nurse, but I'm not pushing you. I also decided to stop taking my herbs when I run out this time, whether you're done or not. At this point, I think it's much more about comfort than milk anyway.
Next month is your birthday, and of course I've already gotten all your presents. Daddy and I are really excited about the stuff we picked out -- a ballet outfit, recycling truck, tool kit, a book called Flotsam, and a play tent.
I love you tremendously,
Mom
Monday, January 25, 2010
22 months
Well, Zadie is 22 months old today. She has been more interested in potty training, though it's not at all consistent. A few days in a row, she won't have a wet diaper at all, and the next day she refuses to go anywhere near the potty. Weirdest of all, she seems to be holding her pee as long as she can to avoid going in her diaper or in the potty. I bought her some pull-ups, because poopy panties are pretty gross, so we can't really put her in panties full-time yet, but I didn't really like the expense or the earth-unfriendliness of the pull-ups, so I bought a few new cloth diaper covers. She can take as long as she wants to get fully potty-trained.
She got a HAUL for Christmas, including a pedal-less bike and a trike. Unfortunately, she can't reach the pedals on the trike or the ground on the bike, so she's not really motoring yet. Her favorite activities right now are going to Bounce Town and Art Beast, coloring, watching PBS kids shows, reading books (we got a bunch of great new ones at Christmas and on our trip to Santa Cruz), and playing with her xylophone and tea set. She also loves her Legos.
She is still really into girly stuff, playing with my jewelry, putting on my "fancy" shoes, asking for barrettes in her hair, and wanting her fingernails polished.
She is a big eater, and she LOVES smoothies, bacon, eggs, noodles, rice, and beans. She ate a whole kids meal at a Mexican place last night - a taco, beans, and rice. She also ate about half the chips and salsa, although she kept insisting "I don't like it very much... Push it here, I want some more."
She's kind of entering that terrible two phase. Most of the time, she's a ball of fun and sweetness, but she occasionally just... freaks out. She'll scream "I DON'T WANT SHOES ON! I WANT MY SHOES ON!" That kind of thing. There's just no pleasing her. Of course it's worse if she's tired or hungry. She has taken to telling us to "shoo." She even told me "I don't love you, Mama." Apparently she inherited my ability to say really hurtful shit. I know she doesn't mean it, though.
She is so much more coordinated these days. Like, she made a painting the other day that looked really intentional. Of course, she still trips right over her own feet a couple times a day, too.
She's also getting so big! For a survey about her health care provider, I just checked to see how tall she was, and she's 2' 9". All her old dresses are mini-skirts now. And looking at pictures from only a few months ago, it's obvious her hair keeps growing and growing! When I pour water on it in the bath, it touches her shoulders, although when it's dry it's so curly that it doesn't even touch the nape of her neck.
She's still nursing, although not as much as before. She backs off a little bit all the time. She'll even forget to nurse at her usual times completely, then when it's time for me to go to work or her to go to bed, she'll panic and be like "I need booby time!"
She took a Spanish class before Christmas and still runs around the house screaming "Arriba! Abajo!" There is another Spanish class coming up and a dance class, both for kids her age, so I'm hoping we can get her into one of those. I think she'd enjoy either.
Well, as you might be able to tell, I'm distracted by my very active toddler. I'd better go. I can't believe she's going to be two in 8 more weeks! I have a birthday party to plan...
She got a HAUL for Christmas, including a pedal-less bike and a trike. Unfortunately, she can't reach the pedals on the trike or the ground on the bike, so she's not really motoring yet. Her favorite activities right now are going to Bounce Town and Art Beast, coloring, watching PBS kids shows, reading books (we got a bunch of great new ones at Christmas and on our trip to Santa Cruz), and playing with her xylophone and tea set. She also loves her Legos.
She is still really into girly stuff, playing with my jewelry, putting on my "fancy" shoes, asking for barrettes in her hair, and wanting her fingernails polished.
She is a big eater, and she LOVES smoothies, bacon, eggs, noodles, rice, and beans. She ate a whole kids meal at a Mexican place last night - a taco, beans, and rice. She also ate about half the chips and salsa, although she kept insisting "I don't like it very much... Push it here, I want some more."
She's kind of entering that terrible two phase. Most of the time, she's a ball of fun and sweetness, but she occasionally just... freaks out. She'll scream "I DON'T WANT SHOES ON! I WANT MY SHOES ON!" That kind of thing. There's just no pleasing her. Of course it's worse if she's tired or hungry. She has taken to telling us to "shoo." She even told me "I don't love you, Mama." Apparently she inherited my ability to say really hurtful shit. I know she doesn't mean it, though.
She is so much more coordinated these days. Like, she made a painting the other day that looked really intentional. Of course, she still trips right over her own feet a couple times a day, too.
She's also getting so big! For a survey about her health care provider, I just checked to see how tall she was, and she's 2' 9". All her old dresses are mini-skirts now. And looking at pictures from only a few months ago, it's obvious her hair keeps growing and growing! When I pour water on it in the bath, it touches her shoulders, although when it's dry it's so curly that it doesn't even touch the nape of her neck.
She's still nursing, although not as much as before. She backs off a little bit all the time. She'll even forget to nurse at her usual times completely, then when it's time for me to go to work or her to go to bed, she'll panic and be like "I need booby time!"
She took a Spanish class before Christmas and still runs around the house screaming "Arriba! Abajo!" There is another Spanish class coming up and a dance class, both for kids her age, so I'm hoping we can get her into one of those. I think she'd enjoy either.
Well, as you might be able to tell, I'm distracted by my very active toddler. I'd better go. I can't believe she's going to be two in 8 more weeks! I have a birthday party to plan...
Monday, December 28, 2009
21 months
Azadeh, you are a real character. Today on the train to San Francisco, you looked around and loudly said "How are you today, people?" Everywhere we go, people are charmed by you, partly because you are intentionally charming -- you smile, cock your head coyly to one side, say "Hi!" and "How are you today?" and "What's your name?"
You learned lots of words in Spanish at your Spanish class. Now we can ask "Donde esta los ojos?" and you'll point right to your eyes. You know several animals and some other facial features and some of the months and a few other things, too.
You still love ArtBeast (in fact, I think I'm going to get you a 1-year pass), and you also love the zoo and the park and, since Grant's 2nd birthday, BounceTown. In fact, practically every time we leave the house you announce that we're on our way to BounceTown.
You make little jokes. Your favorite is "One two boobies!" (You counted them once, carefully, while pointing at them, and it made me laugh, so now you do it all the time. If I don't laugh, you say "Mama, laugh!")
Christmas is over now, and you really enjoyed it. You got lots of new books and toys and some clothes. Your favorite, I think, is the doll stroller, which you load up with whichever doll or animal is handy and roll around and around the house. You got three dolls. One of them, I asked what you wanted to name it, and I was being silly. "Brunhilda?" "Noooo." "Esmerelda?" "Noooo." "Hepzibah?" "Pepzibah!!" So we called her Pepzibah. Then you got a prairie girl doll from me and I threw out some flower names. "Rose?" "No." "Daisy?" "No." "Iris?" "Iris!" So her name is Iris. Then the third doll we named, from your Auntie Maryam, was a small cloth one with curly blond yarn hair. I decided to go with Greek names, and I started with Calliope. You loved that one right away. There was no more discussion. You also named your pig "Pigoboto," which cracks me up. Today we were singing "Mr. Roboto" with the lyrics changed to be about ham.
Possibly the biggest news right now is that you are potty training. Yep, one day at Grandma's, you just were dry every time she checked, and she asked if you wanted to use the potty, and you said yes every time. And you used it. It happened for two days in a row, so I tried it at home on the weekend, and you were still into it. You can't tell us before you poop, so you're still pooping in your panties or diaper, and we have been putting you in diapers when we go out and at night and naptime, but still, that's pretty good for a girl who's not even two! You have Elmo panties, Dora, Hello Kitty, and some other Sesame Street ones, and you do like to wear them. It seems like you're growing up so fast!
Daddy had a lot of time off this month, and you've been spending a lot more time with him. You two have a nice time together. He takes you to the park, takes you to get chicken nuggets, and you go on walks. In addition to it being so fun for both of you, it's a nice change for me, because I don't have to take you absolutely everywhere or hear you yelling "MAMA NO GO BYE-BYE!" when I leave the house.
Another wonderful thing that's changed is bedtime. We had gotten into a bad habit of me laying down with you to nurse you to sleep, then falling asleep with you. Then I would sneak back to my own bed, and in the middle of the night, if you'd cry again (which you did most nights), I would go lay down with you again. Neither one of us was getting enough sleep. So about three weeks ago, we told you the boobies went night-night, and started a very standard bedtime routine. We brush teeth and talk about your day. Then we read "I Love You as Much." Then we have hugs and kisses. Finally, I say "I love you little, I love you big, I love you like a little pig. Good night, sleep tight, and help Sweetpea get to sleep." Then I take off. For three nights, you really cried, but you slept through the night. Since then, you pretty much crash out as soon as I turn the light off, and you sleep all through the night almost every night. It's fantastic.
Okay, I'm tired. All for now. Today for the first time I told someone "She'll be two in three months."
You learned lots of words in Spanish at your Spanish class. Now we can ask "Donde esta los ojos?" and you'll point right to your eyes. You know several animals and some other facial features and some of the months and a few other things, too.
You still love ArtBeast (in fact, I think I'm going to get you a 1-year pass), and you also love the zoo and the park and, since Grant's 2nd birthday, BounceTown. In fact, practically every time we leave the house you announce that we're on our way to BounceTown.
You make little jokes. Your favorite is "One two boobies!" (You counted them once, carefully, while pointing at them, and it made me laugh, so now you do it all the time. If I don't laugh, you say "Mama, laugh!")
Christmas is over now, and you really enjoyed it. You got lots of new books and toys and some clothes. Your favorite, I think, is the doll stroller, which you load up with whichever doll or animal is handy and roll around and around the house. You got three dolls. One of them, I asked what you wanted to name it, and I was being silly. "Brunhilda?" "Noooo." "Esmerelda?" "Noooo." "Hepzibah?" "Pepzibah!!" So we called her Pepzibah. Then you got a prairie girl doll from me and I threw out some flower names. "Rose?" "No." "Daisy?" "No." "Iris?" "Iris!" So her name is Iris. Then the third doll we named, from your Auntie Maryam, was a small cloth one with curly blond yarn hair. I decided to go with Greek names, and I started with Calliope. You loved that one right away. There was no more discussion. You also named your pig "Pigoboto," which cracks me up. Today we were singing "Mr. Roboto" with the lyrics changed to be about ham.
Possibly the biggest news right now is that you are potty training. Yep, one day at Grandma's, you just were dry every time she checked, and she asked if you wanted to use the potty, and you said yes every time. And you used it. It happened for two days in a row, so I tried it at home on the weekend, and you were still into it. You can't tell us before you poop, so you're still pooping in your panties or diaper, and we have been putting you in diapers when we go out and at night and naptime, but still, that's pretty good for a girl who's not even two! You have Elmo panties, Dora, Hello Kitty, and some other Sesame Street ones, and you do like to wear them. It seems like you're growing up so fast!
Daddy had a lot of time off this month, and you've been spending a lot more time with him. You two have a nice time together. He takes you to the park, takes you to get chicken nuggets, and you go on walks. In addition to it being so fun for both of you, it's a nice change for me, because I don't have to take you absolutely everywhere or hear you yelling "MAMA NO GO BYE-BYE!" when I leave the house.
Another wonderful thing that's changed is bedtime. We had gotten into a bad habit of me laying down with you to nurse you to sleep, then falling asleep with you. Then I would sneak back to my own bed, and in the middle of the night, if you'd cry again (which you did most nights), I would go lay down with you again. Neither one of us was getting enough sleep. So about three weeks ago, we told you the boobies went night-night, and started a very standard bedtime routine. We brush teeth and talk about your day. Then we read "I Love You as Much." Then we have hugs and kisses. Finally, I say "I love you little, I love you big, I love you like a little pig. Good night, sleep tight, and help Sweetpea get to sleep." Then I take off. For three nights, you really cried, but you slept through the night. Since then, you pretty much crash out as soon as I turn the light off, and you sleep all through the night almost every night. It's fantastic.
Okay, I'm tired. All for now. Today for the first time I told someone "She'll be two in three months."
Monday, November 30, 2009
20 months
It's the holiday season, so I'm pressed for time, but here's a short update:
I'm going to have to stop counting the words in your sentences, as they just get longer and longer. The other day you said "Zadie reads a book while I change your diaper." Okay, you didn't have the pronouns quite right, but that's a subordinate clause! Also, you tell little stories. Like the other day, you said, "I was born in a hospital. I had a thingie in my nose."
You are also really into nursery rhymes, and can say parts of many of them. You really like Humpty Dumpty, Hickory Dickory Dock, Baa Baa Black Sheep, and a few others. You also really understand stories. The other day, we were reading a Frog and Toad story, and Toad was gathering things to go help Frog. He opened the door and you yelled "Frog! I'm coming to help you!"
You have this little trick -- it's a rhetorical trick that is very effective. You know how parents tend to expand on what their kids say? For example, a kid would say "diaper" and the parent would say "Oh, you need your diaper changed?" Well, you have completely tricked me several times. You'll say "Grapes." I'll say "Oh, you want to eat some grapes?" And you'll say "okay!" I was just clarifying, but you act as if I've offered. It's very sneaky.
You have the funniest little devil laugh. It's a really deep, throaty laugh. I have a phone game that allows you to record your voice and play it back at high speed so it sounds like a chipmunk. You LOVE this, and will play for a long time, but usually you start out speaking ("Daddy is sleeping") and end up just laughing and laughing.
You can finally jump and get air. Also, you saw a girl in a ballet outfit and decided you like ballet. You dragged out two books about ballerinas, and I bought you the Nutcracker DVD. You have also declared that not only do you paint, but you are "an artist." You play the piano and say that it is "beautiful music." You're a real renaissance girl.
You exclusively sleep in your big girl bed. In fact, we have Christmas presents stored in the crib.
Your favorite food right now is eggs, and you would eat them at every meal if you could. The other day I made you THREE scrambled eggs, and you ate them all.
I also have to add, you get the colors right about 75% of the time now, you consistently count from one to thirteen, and you can say the entire alphabet without prompting. When we give you a crayon or pen, you scribble, then point at it, saying "I writed my name!" You have also said "I'm drawing Mommy."
When people ask "How are you?" you sometimes answer "Fine, how are you?" but more often than not, you say "I'm wearing socks!" or some other non sequitur.
The other night you had some nightmares, and when I asked you what they had been about, you said, among other things "My coat fell" and "fuzzy rocks."
Okay, lots of things to do, but you're great fun, and I love you more than ever.
Love,
Mommy
I'm going to have to stop counting the words in your sentences, as they just get longer and longer. The other day you said "Zadie reads a book while I change your diaper." Okay, you didn't have the pronouns quite right, but that's a subordinate clause! Also, you tell little stories. Like the other day, you said, "I was born in a hospital. I had a thingie in my nose."
You are also really into nursery rhymes, and can say parts of many of them. You really like Humpty Dumpty, Hickory Dickory Dock, Baa Baa Black Sheep, and a few others. You also really understand stories. The other day, we were reading a Frog and Toad story, and Toad was gathering things to go help Frog. He opened the door and you yelled "Frog! I'm coming to help you!"
You have this little trick -- it's a rhetorical trick that is very effective. You know how parents tend to expand on what their kids say? For example, a kid would say "diaper" and the parent would say "Oh, you need your diaper changed?" Well, you have completely tricked me several times. You'll say "Grapes." I'll say "Oh, you want to eat some grapes?" And you'll say "okay!" I was just clarifying, but you act as if I've offered. It's very sneaky.
You have the funniest little devil laugh. It's a really deep, throaty laugh. I have a phone game that allows you to record your voice and play it back at high speed so it sounds like a chipmunk. You LOVE this, and will play for a long time, but usually you start out speaking ("Daddy is sleeping") and end up just laughing and laughing.
You can finally jump and get air. Also, you saw a girl in a ballet outfit and decided you like ballet. You dragged out two books about ballerinas, and I bought you the Nutcracker DVD. You have also declared that not only do you paint, but you are "an artist." You play the piano and say that it is "beautiful music." You're a real renaissance girl.
You exclusively sleep in your big girl bed. In fact, we have Christmas presents stored in the crib.
Your favorite food right now is eggs, and you would eat them at every meal if you could. The other day I made you THREE scrambled eggs, and you ate them all.
I also have to add, you get the colors right about 75% of the time now, you consistently count from one to thirteen, and you can say the entire alphabet without prompting. When we give you a crayon or pen, you scribble, then point at it, saying "I writed my name!" You have also said "I'm drawing Mommy."
When people ask "How are you?" you sometimes answer "Fine, how are you?" but more often than not, you say "I'm wearing socks!" or some other non sequitur.
The other night you had some nightmares, and when I asked you what they had been about, you said, among other things "My coat fell" and "fuzzy rocks."
Okay, lots of things to do, but you're great fun, and I love you more than ever.
Love,
Mommy
Saturday, October 24, 2009
19 months
Hi, my sugar plum fairy.
Tomorrow you will be 19 months old. At this point, I think we start to drop the months and call you "a year and a half." You are so amazing. A few months ago, I think I wrote about how it was great that you could talk so well because I was really getting to know your personality. I had no idea then how much we would learn about you as you got even more verbal! Back then it was all peanut butter vs. hummus. Now I know what you find funny, what you love, and what you want to do. You ask to go swimming, to go to ArtBeast, to go to the playground, to see Dylan... You told me that Daddy was funny, that Boompah is funny, that you like my teddy bear, and he's funny because he sticks his tongue out... You like to tell us that the rooms in the house are beautiful, that the park is beautiful, that Mommy is beautiful... Yesterday for the first time you said "I love music." You are very proud of yourself when you paint, and you tell us how beautiful your paintings are.
You also talk almost constantly. People comment on it all the time, even though you are often shy in public compared to at home. Yesterday a grocery clerk asked how you were, and you said "Fine, how are you?" You also speak clearly. There are a few words that sound a little funny, though, and I thought I'd record them here. For example, I think when you hear "Hip hip hooray," you think the "P" is attached to "Hooray," so when you're excited, you say "Pooray!" You also love to ask for ArtBeast, but you call it Arse Beat, which makes your daddy and me laugh.
Today at ArtBeast, you were in the play room and another dad and 21 month old boy were there. For about five minutes, you went on like this: "Zadie standing! Zadie upside-down. I'm walking. I'm bouncing. Boom on the butt. I'm okay. I'm crawling." Finally, the other dad asked me how old you were, and said you were a good talker. For five more minutes, you said "Micky Mouse, Donald Duck, high, high, high... Elmo kisses the baby every day. I'm bouncing. I'm booming. Mama's a woman." Then the dad looked at his kid, who had been silent the whole time, and said "Jordan, do you have anything to say?" He didn't.
You eat like a mighty beast. Some days it seems like you never stop eating, from breakfast, to snacks, to lunch, to snacks, to dinner... The other day Grandma made you two scrambled eggs with cheese, then left the room for a minute. When she came back, she asked Boompah "What happened to her eggs?" What happened was you had eaten them!
You are not a big fan of other kids sometimes, but you are usually kind to them. For example, when you are alone on the playground, if another kid approaches you'll say "No! I don't! I don't! No touch Zadie!" I'll assure you that no one will touch you if you don't want them to, and then you'll often go back to playing. Yesterday you rode the airplane with another little boy, and afterwards you said "We shared, we shared!"
You helped me decorate Halloween cookies today. That is absolutely one of the things I had most looked forward to about having a child, and I have to say, I loved it as much as I thought I would. Being there in the kitchen together, working together on a product, making you feel like you are helping (which you love), and then sampling our cookies and giving them to other people... it was just a very nice experience. We'll have to do more of it.
You still love nursing. You ask (loudly) for "booby time!" which sometimes gets shortened to "boo-time!" I am still thinking that we'll stop when you're ready, but you aren't really showing signs of being ready yet. It will be bittersweet when we stop. It's been nice to have our close cuddle-time several times a day, especially before bed. I can't imagine you will consent to get cuddled for half an hour at a time after you stop nursing.
That's about all for now. I could go on and on about you, and sometimes I do.
I love you tremendously,
Mom
Tomorrow you will be 19 months old. At this point, I think we start to drop the months and call you "a year and a half." You are so amazing. A few months ago, I think I wrote about how it was great that you could talk so well because I was really getting to know your personality. I had no idea then how much we would learn about you as you got even more verbal! Back then it was all peanut butter vs. hummus. Now I know what you find funny, what you love, and what you want to do. You ask to go swimming, to go to ArtBeast, to go to the playground, to see Dylan... You told me that Daddy was funny, that Boompah is funny, that you like my teddy bear, and he's funny because he sticks his tongue out... You like to tell us that the rooms in the house are beautiful, that the park is beautiful, that Mommy is beautiful... Yesterday for the first time you said "I love music." You are very proud of yourself when you paint, and you tell us how beautiful your paintings are.
You also talk almost constantly. People comment on it all the time, even though you are often shy in public compared to at home. Yesterday a grocery clerk asked how you were, and you said "Fine, how are you?" You also speak clearly. There are a few words that sound a little funny, though, and I thought I'd record them here. For example, I think when you hear "Hip hip hooray," you think the "P" is attached to "Hooray," so when you're excited, you say "Pooray!" You also love to ask for ArtBeast, but you call it Arse Beat, which makes your daddy and me laugh.
Today at ArtBeast, you were in the play room and another dad and 21 month old boy were there. For about five minutes, you went on like this: "Zadie standing! Zadie upside-down. I'm walking. I'm bouncing. Boom on the butt. I'm okay. I'm crawling." Finally, the other dad asked me how old you were, and said you were a good talker. For five more minutes, you said "Micky Mouse, Donald Duck, high, high, high... Elmo kisses the baby every day. I'm bouncing. I'm booming. Mama's a woman." Then the dad looked at his kid, who had been silent the whole time, and said "Jordan, do you have anything to say?" He didn't.
You eat like a mighty beast. Some days it seems like you never stop eating, from breakfast, to snacks, to lunch, to snacks, to dinner... The other day Grandma made you two scrambled eggs with cheese, then left the room for a minute. When she came back, she asked Boompah "What happened to her eggs?" What happened was you had eaten them!
You are not a big fan of other kids sometimes, but you are usually kind to them. For example, when you are alone on the playground, if another kid approaches you'll say "No! I don't! I don't! No touch Zadie!" I'll assure you that no one will touch you if you don't want them to, and then you'll often go back to playing. Yesterday you rode the airplane with another little boy, and afterwards you said "We shared, we shared!"
You helped me decorate Halloween cookies today. That is absolutely one of the things I had most looked forward to about having a child, and I have to say, I loved it as much as I thought I would. Being there in the kitchen together, working together on a product, making you feel like you are helping (which you love), and then sampling our cookies and giving them to other people... it was just a very nice experience. We'll have to do more of it.
You still love nursing. You ask (loudly) for "booby time!" which sometimes gets shortened to "boo-time!" I am still thinking that we'll stop when you're ready, but you aren't really showing signs of being ready yet. It will be bittersweet when we stop. It's been nice to have our close cuddle-time several times a day, especially before bed. I can't imagine you will consent to get cuddled for half an hour at a time after you stop nursing.
That's about all for now. I could go on and on about you, and sometimes I do.
I love you tremendously,
Mom
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
A year and a half!
Wow, Zadie; in two days you'll be a year and a half old. You're SO smart. That's the theme of this post.
Language: Not only are you now mastering four-syllable words (like iridescent), you are getting the hang of tenses and pronouns. I mean, wow! If we say "Did Zadie eat cake?" you'll reply "Zadie ate cake." Or "Grandma walks" becomes "Grandma walking." And we're working on "she" and "he" and who you use them with. You can have whole conversations about what you did during the day, or a birthday party you went to. You also love to ask "who's that?" You point to people or to Sesame Street characters and say "who's that? Who's that? Who's that?" You still love reading books, too.
Letters: You absolutely love the alphabet song and ask for it all the time. You can sing parts of it along with me. You love to look at printed words and guess what letters they say. Today you had my "irony" bracelet and said "D - O - X." You had the "O" right, anyway. You actually do recognize Os, Xs, and Cs at the very least. We can ask you to push the "C" button on your duck toy, and you will. If you get a pen, the first thing you do is say "E!" You want us to make Es all the time.
Shapes: We're getting there. You recognize circles, though you occasionally mix them up with squares. You've got triangles pretty much down pat, and you love to say "oval."
Colors: You get the colors right some of the time. You can say them all clearly, and last night I pointed to a red dot and said red, a blue dot and said blue, then I pointed to a green dot and YOU said green before I could.
Numbers: Last weekend I was talking to myself as I did chores and said "One, two, three, four, five" and then a minute later, "One, two, three, four." You supplied the "five." If I say "One," you'll say "two" and then we trade off up to five.
I guess that's about it. You have your 18 month appointment on Friday, and I imagine that everything is well. You are actually a little sick tonight. It might be related to teething, but you did throw up. If you are sick, it's the first time. I think it's wonderful that you've been such a healthy baby (milk allergy and reflux aside).
Language: Not only are you now mastering four-syllable words (like iridescent), you are getting the hang of tenses and pronouns. I mean, wow! If we say "Did Zadie eat cake?" you'll reply "Zadie ate cake." Or "Grandma walks" becomes "Grandma walking." And we're working on "she" and "he" and who you use them with. You can have whole conversations about what you did during the day, or a birthday party you went to. You also love to ask "who's that?" You point to people or to Sesame Street characters and say "who's that? Who's that? Who's that?" You still love reading books, too.
Letters: You absolutely love the alphabet song and ask for it all the time. You can sing parts of it along with me. You love to look at printed words and guess what letters they say. Today you had my "irony" bracelet and said "D - O - X." You had the "O" right, anyway. You actually do recognize Os, Xs, and Cs at the very least. We can ask you to push the "C" button on your duck toy, and you will. If you get a pen, the first thing you do is say "E!" You want us to make Es all the time.
Shapes: We're getting there. You recognize circles, though you occasionally mix them up with squares. You've got triangles pretty much down pat, and you love to say "oval."
Colors: You get the colors right some of the time. You can say them all clearly, and last night I pointed to a red dot and said red, a blue dot and said blue, then I pointed to a green dot and YOU said green before I could.
Numbers: Last weekend I was talking to myself as I did chores and said "One, two, three, four, five" and then a minute later, "One, two, three, four." You supplied the "five." If I say "One," you'll say "two" and then we trade off up to five.
I guess that's about it. You have your 18 month appointment on Friday, and I imagine that everything is well. You are actually a little sick tonight. It might be related to teething, but you did throw up. If you are sick, it's the first time. I think it's wonderful that you've been such a healthy baby (milk allergy and reflux aside).
Sunday, August 23, 2009
17 months
Dear Zadie,
I've been feeling a little guilty that I didn't write you one of these last month. We were in Chicago and I had a slow internet connection, and since we've been home it has been on my mind, but you and I have been very busy. I've been trying to make sure we have all kinds of fun before I have to go back to work. To that end, we've been to the zoo, ArtBeast, Old Sacramento, the wading pool, the park, on bicycle rides, to Grandpa John's house, out to breakfast... I know you'll never remember any of this when you're older, but it is important to me.
On to you! You are just amazing. You speak in sentences most of the time now. Sure, mostly it's simple subject-verb sentences, like "baby eat," "baby walk," "mama sit," "daddy read the book," and so on, but you're communicating very effectively. And you certainly make longer sentences as well. "Baby can drive the car!" and "Baby fall down, go boom on butt" and "Mommy, tickle my tummy" are among the more impressive sentences you've said lately. You have a full vocabulary with many three-syllable words. You clearly pronounce flamingo, Chicago, bicycle, koala, Odwalla, and domo arigato (which we taught you for fun).
One of the big changes this last month has been your ability to really make choices. Now that you can speak so well, I can ask "hummus or peanut butter?" and you'll answer (it was hummus, for the record). Or the other day, I asked you if you preferred to go to Old Sacramento or ArtBeast, and you quickly chose ArtBeast. It's fun to see you making decisions and taking a little control over your own life.
You are so energetic, and you really love many activities, but the things you like to do most are read books, walk up and down the street, dance, eat snacks (blueberries rank very high), watch Yo Gabba Gabba, play peek-a-boo, sing songs with me (you usually request Kimya Dawson's "Bobby-O," which you can sing along to), play with your magnetic letters on the fridge, color with crayons (and sometimes you even stay on the paper!), drum, and riffle through my purse.
You love trucks and trains and drumming, but you are for the most part REALLY into girly stuff. You clap and yell "Yay, shopping!" when we pull into a store parking lot. You request that we put lipstick on you, you want pink sparkly shoes, you want to put jewelry on (particularly earrings, but I don't have any clip-ons for you), and you love barrettes and headbands. After we put any of these items on you, you request "see mirror!"
You would love to drive the car or ride a bike. I think I'll get you a bike (with no pedals -- a training-type bike) for Christmas, because you ask about them all the time. Just this morning, you saw our neighbors getting out their bikes and clapped and said "Yay, bicycle!" Then you asked several times "Mama ride a bicycle? Baby ride the bicycle?" You also could spend hours in the driver's seat of the car just standing holding the wheel and pretending. You ask to be seat-belted in, too, which makes me smile. Your other favorite pretend game is talking on the phone. You grab my cell phone or your play phone, hold it to your ear and laugh like someone has told you a joke. Lately you've told us that you're talking to Elmo, Big Bird, Grandma, Boompah, Grandpa,Grandma Jan, Jenny and Aunt Maryam.
When other babies cry, it freaks you out a little, so I've been teaching you that when babies cry, we just pat them and say "It's okay." You have extended this to other people, too. The other day, you demanded that I cry, so I faked crying, and you patted me on the shoulder and said "It's okay." At the wading pool on Friday, I met an old high school friend and her baby briefly cried. You were too nervous to pat the baby, so you patted yourself on the arm and said "It's okay." Speaking of the wading pool, you seem to enjoy being there, but you don't really want to go in the water. You prefer to stand on the edge and throw things in. If I put you in the water, you cling to my legs and bury your face in my lap. You will NOT walk in the water, even if I hold your hand.
You have become quite a helper. You can bring me shoes, put books back on the shelf, and put small toys away. When we take showers together, you say "clean mommy" and rub my chest as if to help me wash. If I ask you to clean yourself, you will. It makes me laugh to ask you to clean your butt and watch you say "clean butt" and rub your booty.
You probably don't want this preserved on the internet, but you are also kind of weird. About once a week, we have the poop-eating discussion. "Baby eat poop?" "No, yuck-o! We don't eat poop." "Mama eat the poop?" "No, that's yucky." Long pause. "Baby eat poop?" And so forth... You have also asked if you can take your hair off, if you can eat the cat, and if I can take my boobies off.
You love you ride on your little zebra, and have recently discovered that you can stand on the saddle. You also can climb onto the kitchen table. Long gone are the days when I could put you somewhere and expect you to stay there!
A few other tidbits -- you have an Elmo doll you're pretty attached to. Sometimes you insist that he nurses, too. Other times you throw him violently to the floor, then pick him up, rock him, and tell him "It's okay." You love Dylan from down the street. Whenever you're both outside, you follow him all around. If we walk past his house and he's not outside, you look at me and ask "Dy-an?" with your palms up. Your memory surprises me -- A month ago, we saw cousin Cristin and baby Grant. He ran into a table, hit his head, and was crying. Just a few days ago, you saw a picture of Grant and said "Grant. Baby cry." You also regularly ask for Naia, a little girl we met on the airplane last month. In June, we met my step-brother's kids at Grandpa John's house. One of them is named Audrey, and she was playing in the hot tub. Several weeks later, we went back and you pointed at the hot tub and said "Audrey?"
We went to the doctor a few weeks ago for a check-up, and you're above average in height and weight, and way advanced for your age in terms of vocabulary. We still nurse, but we don't use the SNS anymore. Now I try to get you to drink milk from a cup. You don't drink as much as you're supposed to just yet, but I'm hoping that will improve.
Now you're on my lap begging to see pictures of yourself, so I'd better go. I love you tremendously.
Love,
Mom
I've been feeling a little guilty that I didn't write you one of these last month. We were in Chicago and I had a slow internet connection, and since we've been home it has been on my mind, but you and I have been very busy. I've been trying to make sure we have all kinds of fun before I have to go back to work. To that end, we've been to the zoo, ArtBeast, Old Sacramento, the wading pool, the park, on bicycle rides, to Grandpa John's house, out to breakfast... I know you'll never remember any of this when you're older, but it is important to me.
On to you! You are just amazing. You speak in sentences most of the time now. Sure, mostly it's simple subject-verb sentences, like "baby eat," "baby walk," "mama sit," "daddy read the book," and so on, but you're communicating very effectively. And you certainly make longer sentences as well. "Baby can drive the car!" and "Baby fall down, go boom on butt" and "Mommy, tickle my tummy" are among the more impressive sentences you've said lately. You have a full vocabulary with many three-syllable words. You clearly pronounce flamingo, Chicago, bicycle, koala, Odwalla, and domo arigato (which we taught you for fun).
One of the big changes this last month has been your ability to really make choices. Now that you can speak so well, I can ask "hummus or peanut butter?" and you'll answer (it was hummus, for the record). Or the other day, I asked you if you preferred to go to Old Sacramento or ArtBeast, and you quickly chose ArtBeast. It's fun to see you making decisions and taking a little control over your own life.
You are so energetic, and you really love many activities, but the things you like to do most are read books, walk up and down the street, dance, eat snacks (blueberries rank very high), watch Yo Gabba Gabba, play peek-a-boo, sing songs with me (you usually request Kimya Dawson's "Bobby-O," which you can sing along to), play with your magnetic letters on the fridge, color with crayons (and sometimes you even stay on the paper!), drum, and riffle through my purse.
You love trucks and trains and drumming, but you are for the most part REALLY into girly stuff. You clap and yell "Yay, shopping!" when we pull into a store parking lot. You request that we put lipstick on you, you want pink sparkly shoes, you want to put jewelry on (particularly earrings, but I don't have any clip-ons for you), and you love barrettes and headbands. After we put any of these items on you, you request "see mirror!"
You would love to drive the car or ride a bike. I think I'll get you a bike (with no pedals -- a training-type bike) for Christmas, because you ask about them all the time. Just this morning, you saw our neighbors getting out their bikes and clapped and said "Yay, bicycle!" Then you asked several times "Mama ride a bicycle? Baby ride the bicycle?" You also could spend hours in the driver's seat of the car just standing holding the wheel and pretending. You ask to be seat-belted in, too, which makes me smile. Your other favorite pretend game is talking on the phone. You grab my cell phone or your play phone, hold it to your ear and laugh like someone has told you a joke. Lately you've told us that you're talking to Elmo, Big Bird, Grandma, Boompah, Grandpa,Grandma Jan, Jenny and Aunt Maryam.
When other babies cry, it freaks you out a little, so I've been teaching you that when babies cry, we just pat them and say "It's okay." You have extended this to other people, too. The other day, you demanded that I cry, so I faked crying, and you patted me on the shoulder and said "It's okay." At the wading pool on Friday, I met an old high school friend and her baby briefly cried. You were too nervous to pat the baby, so you patted yourself on the arm and said "It's okay." Speaking of the wading pool, you seem to enjoy being there, but you don't really want to go in the water. You prefer to stand on the edge and throw things in. If I put you in the water, you cling to my legs and bury your face in my lap. You will NOT walk in the water, even if I hold your hand.
You have become quite a helper. You can bring me shoes, put books back on the shelf, and put small toys away. When we take showers together, you say "clean mommy" and rub my chest as if to help me wash. If I ask you to clean yourself, you will. It makes me laugh to ask you to clean your butt and watch you say "clean butt" and rub your booty.
You probably don't want this preserved on the internet, but you are also kind of weird. About once a week, we have the poop-eating discussion. "Baby eat poop?" "No, yuck-o! We don't eat poop." "Mama eat the poop?" "No, that's yucky." Long pause. "Baby eat poop?" And so forth... You have also asked if you can take your hair off, if you can eat the cat, and if I can take my boobies off.
You love you ride on your little zebra, and have recently discovered that you can stand on the saddle. You also can climb onto the kitchen table. Long gone are the days when I could put you somewhere and expect you to stay there!
A few other tidbits -- you have an Elmo doll you're pretty attached to. Sometimes you insist that he nurses, too. Other times you throw him violently to the floor, then pick him up, rock him, and tell him "It's okay." You love Dylan from down the street. Whenever you're both outside, you follow him all around. If we walk past his house and he's not outside, you look at me and ask "Dy-an?" with your palms up. Your memory surprises me -- A month ago, we saw cousin Cristin and baby Grant. He ran into a table, hit his head, and was crying. Just a few days ago, you saw a picture of Grant and said "Grant. Baby cry." You also regularly ask for Naia, a little girl we met on the airplane last month. In June, we met my step-brother's kids at Grandpa John's house. One of them is named Audrey, and she was playing in the hot tub. Several weeks later, we went back and you pointed at the hot tub and said "Audrey?"
We went to the doctor a few weeks ago for a check-up, and you're above average in height and weight, and way advanced for your age in terms of vocabulary. We still nurse, but we don't use the SNS anymore. Now I try to get you to drink milk from a cup. You don't drink as much as you're supposed to just yet, but I'm hoping that will improve.
Now you're on my lap begging to see pictures of yourself, so I'd better go. I love you tremendously.
Love,
Mom
Thursday, June 25, 2009
15 months
You are amazing, spectacular, beautiful, a genius... Honey, I can't believe how much you keep learning. Every day you say new things. Seriously, when I read you a book, you sometimes repeat the last work on every page. You can speak in short sentences, like "Mommy cook" and "baby sit." You use many of these. You also sometimes say three-or four word phrases like "sit on mommy" or, most recently, "up in the sky." (Okay, it sounds like "up in kye," but I know what you mean.) You also say "I see a Mommy," "I see a baby," "I see a Mina," "I see a ball," "I see water," etc. I'm not 100% sure you know what you're saying, but I'm impressed nonetheless.
You can climb steps, scoot yourself down a slide, dance (your moves include stomping, head-nodding, turning around, and clapping), climb down from couches and beds, and you're starting to run a little (or at least walk fast). You can give high fives, you are learning to shake hands, you wave very well, and you blow raspberries regularly (usually just when someone has complimented you).
You can point to your eye, mouth, nose, ear, head, hand, arm, leg, knee, foot, cheek, chin, and tummy. When we went to Oregon, your grandma asked to see your tummy and you came running over and lifted your shirt. You can take something like a ball and follow instructions to put it in, on, under, on, and off other things, like a chair or bowl.
We have been taking swim lessons, which are more focused on getting you comfortable in the water than anything, but they seem to be effective. Today we put you in Grandpa John's pool, and it was the first time you'd been in a big, cold-water pool, and you were totally cool with it.
It is finally summertime. The very first thing we did when I got out of school was go to Oregon to visit our family. You had a wonderful time playing with your cousins and aunties especially.
Your hair has grown a lot since your first birthday. It's still noticeably copper-colored, but I think it's coming in a little lighter. My favorite thing is that at the back of your head, there are some crazy little ringlets. I suspect you're going to have very curly hair.
You are very sweet. You give kisses and hugs, and even though you are frequently on the go, you still like to be held or sit on our laps and have stories read to you. I just can't get enough Zadie time.
I love you very much,
Mom
You can climb steps, scoot yourself down a slide, dance (your moves include stomping, head-nodding, turning around, and clapping), climb down from couches and beds, and you're starting to run a little (or at least walk fast). You can give high fives, you are learning to shake hands, you wave very well, and you blow raspberries regularly (usually just when someone has complimented you).
You can point to your eye, mouth, nose, ear, head, hand, arm, leg, knee, foot, cheek, chin, and tummy. When we went to Oregon, your grandma asked to see your tummy and you came running over and lifted your shirt. You can take something like a ball and follow instructions to put it in, on, under, on, and off other things, like a chair or bowl.
We have been taking swim lessons, which are more focused on getting you comfortable in the water than anything, but they seem to be effective. Today we put you in Grandpa John's pool, and it was the first time you'd been in a big, cold-water pool, and you were totally cool with it.
It is finally summertime. The very first thing we did when I got out of school was go to Oregon to visit our family. You had a wonderful time playing with your cousins and aunties especially.
Your hair has grown a lot since your first birthday. It's still noticeably copper-colored, but I think it's coming in a little lighter. My favorite thing is that at the back of your head, there are some crazy little ringlets. I suspect you're going to have very curly hair.
You are very sweet. You give kisses and hugs, and even though you are frequently on the go, you still like to be held or sit on our laps and have stories read to you. I just can't get enough Zadie time.
I love you very much,
Mom
Saturday, May 9, 2009
over 13 months
Well, I'm a slacker! I was trying to update this once a month. Ah, well.
You are so much fun right now. Everywhere we go, you insist on "walk walk walk!" We let you walk up and down the sidewalk, all over the house (which can be trouble, as two of your favorite things to get into are the diaper pail and the cat's food), and wherever else we think it's safe to let you walk. The other day you went face-first into the concrete of our neighbor's driveway. You can really get around and get into everything! I had to get locks for some of the cabinets. Everywhere we look around the house are pieces of Tupperware, lone shoes, purses, junk mail...
Grandma and I have been working on potty training you. At first we had a lot of luck -- we were catching you just at the right moment and you were peeing in the potty and having dry diapers. By the end of the week, you had even pooped in the potty three times. But since then, you had an upset stomach one week and we haven't been as lucky, so we're still having a mix of potty and diaper. Still, it's progress! You're rather young for potty training anyway, so anywhere we get is a bonus.
You can say "book" now, and you chant it while bringing us books to read. You recognize that letters are a particular kind of shape, but for the moment, you think they're all "e."
You still love drinking water, and you'll eat almost any kind of food. We've been getting you your own sandwich at Corti Brothers for dinner on Wednesday.
You are learning to dance. Grandma has been taking you to a music class on Mondays, and they stomp, turn around, put their hands in the air, and shake their hips. She's taught you the first three. Last night at Maalouf's, we were the only ones in the restaurant, so I let you walk around, and you showed everyone your dance skills. Abdul said he might put you on the schedule of belly dancers.
You are still obsessed with the cat. You call every cat you see "Mee-ah" and when we're at home, you always want to pet her. I have to say "gentle, gentle!" and take your hand, because you can be a little rough. You also like to kiss her on the face, which she is not wild about, so I monitor that carefully.
As we speak, you're getting into something, so I'd better go! I'm having a blast running after you, my curious dumpling.
I love you more every day,
Mom
You are so much fun right now. Everywhere we go, you insist on "walk walk walk!" We let you walk up and down the sidewalk, all over the house (which can be trouble, as two of your favorite things to get into are the diaper pail and the cat's food), and wherever else we think it's safe to let you walk. The other day you went face-first into the concrete of our neighbor's driveway. You can really get around and get into everything! I had to get locks for some of the cabinets. Everywhere we look around the house are pieces of Tupperware, lone shoes, purses, junk mail...
Grandma and I have been working on potty training you. At first we had a lot of luck -- we were catching you just at the right moment and you were peeing in the potty and having dry diapers. By the end of the week, you had even pooped in the potty three times. But since then, you had an upset stomach one week and we haven't been as lucky, so we're still having a mix of potty and diaper. Still, it's progress! You're rather young for potty training anyway, so anywhere we get is a bonus.
You can say "book" now, and you chant it while bringing us books to read. You recognize that letters are a particular kind of shape, but for the moment, you think they're all "e."
You still love drinking water, and you'll eat almost any kind of food. We've been getting you your own sandwich at Corti Brothers for dinner on Wednesday.
You are learning to dance. Grandma has been taking you to a music class on Mondays, and they stomp, turn around, put their hands in the air, and shake their hips. She's taught you the first three. Last night at Maalouf's, we were the only ones in the restaurant, so I let you walk around, and you showed everyone your dance skills. Abdul said he might put you on the schedule of belly dancers.
You are still obsessed with the cat. You call every cat you see "Mee-ah" and when we're at home, you always want to pet her. I have to say "gentle, gentle!" and take your hand, because you can be a little rough. You also like to kiss her on the face, which she is not wild about, so I monitor that carefully.
As we speak, you're getting into something, so I'd better go! I'm having a blast running after you, my curious dumpling.
I love you more every day,
Mom
Friday, April 3, 2009
More words and signs
Time to update the list with words and signs she's added! The doctor was very impressed with her language skills at her one-year visit.
Words:
cat
car
alley
walk
Mina
keys
kitty
back
tree
truck
clock
money
pee-pee
baby
all done
water
bottle
yummy (nummy)
whee
Grandma (sounds like Gee-aw)
Signs:
squirrel
hear
stars
elephant
wash hands
shirt
pants
bib
fan
tree
light
toothbrush
pig
me
bath
cat
Words:
cat
car
alley
walk
Mina
keys
kitty
back
tree
truck
clock
money
pee-pee
baby
all done
water
bottle
yummy (nummy)
whee
Grandma (sounds like Gee-aw)
Signs:
squirrel
hear
stars
elephant
wash hands
shirt
pants
bib
fan
tree
light
toothbrush
pig
me
bath
cat
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Birthday!
Darling! You're almost a year old. One year ago right now I was in labor at the hospital. You were born at 3:07 on the 25th. It seems like a distant dream, and at the same time I can remember flashes of it with perfect clarity.
You are amazing. You started walking a week and a half ago, and now you are fearless and love walking, no matter how many times you fall on your bottom. If you're in a real hurry, you still crawl sometimes, because you are a super-fast crawler.
You say so many words now and make so many signs. You've added "all done," squirrel, back, alley, whoo (owl noise), and many others. I swear I'm not being biased when I say I think you are very advanced in your vocabulary.
You are also very energetic, curious, and loving. You give hugs and kisses now, and you give GREAT hugs. A visual of you I will probably always remember is you, in your stroller, leaning forward and kicking your legs, which is how you almost always ride. You never just sit back and relax.
You love to be taken around the house to see everything. You want to look at everything on the mantle, all the fridge magnets, my Alice in Wonderland figures, etc. You also like to walk around and try to pull things off tables and out of bags and drawers and shelves. If you can reach it, it will be in your hands soon.
You still love to cuddle and nurse, and you also eat pretty much any food we give you.
I love you so much, and this year has been absolutely amazing. Thank you so much for being my sweet baby.
I love you more than I thought I ever could (and I was pretty sure it was a lot).
Love,
Mom
You are amazing. You started walking a week and a half ago, and now you are fearless and love walking, no matter how many times you fall on your bottom. If you're in a real hurry, you still crawl sometimes, because you are a super-fast crawler.
You say so many words now and make so many signs. You've added "all done," squirrel, back, alley, whoo (owl noise), and many others. I swear I'm not being biased when I say I think you are very advanced in your vocabulary.
You are also very energetic, curious, and loving. You give hugs and kisses now, and you give GREAT hugs. A visual of you I will probably always remember is you, in your stroller, leaning forward and kicking your legs, which is how you almost always ride. You never just sit back and relax.
You love to be taken around the house to see everything. You want to look at everything on the mantle, all the fridge magnets, my Alice in Wonderland figures, etc. You also like to walk around and try to pull things off tables and out of bags and drawers and shelves. If you can reach it, it will be in your hands soon.
You still love to cuddle and nurse, and you also eat pretty much any food we give you.
I love you so much, and this year has been absolutely amazing. Thank you so much for being my sweet baby.
I love you more than I thought I ever could (and I was pretty sure it was a lot).
Love,
Mom
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