We went to Silver Lake on Friday. It was warm enough to swim, so the girls went in their bathing suits and life vests, and they had their first real experience of a western Washington lake. This particular one is really a glorified pond, but there was a beach with sand and a roped-off kids' area, and the girls loved wading and splashing around. They went waist-deep, which was as far as the rope went, but decided not to go further, even though I said they could. (I didn't say I would go with them. I had not worn a bathing suit. I was prepared to get wet going after one of them, but I was not excited about it, and maybe they noticed that.)
I noticed the distinctive smell of Washington woodland, a sweet woodsy smell, which now that I think of it probably comes partly from overripe blackberries. They noticed the sand and how the underwater plants started growing a few yards out, and the freshwater clamshells, and how in this beach there were no waves and no tide. But mostly, Chloë noticed...wait for it...the ducks. There were a dozen or so mallards and wood ducks floating near shore, and she was absolutely charmed by them, especially when they swam right near her. "I've never seen a duck so close before! Look at its webbed feet!" This flock was very tame; they had obviously decided being chased by small children was worth it for the free food. "That boy is feeding the ducks!" she said, pointing to a boy around eight or so who was tossing chips to the waiting birds nearby. "I wish we had brought food."
"We brought animal crackers," I said, and then as her face opened with hope, "but it's not good for the ducks to feed them." She asked why, and I told her (there was also a helpful sign not far from where the boy stood). I could see and hear her reluctance, but she said decidedly, "Then we shouldn't." I was proud.
* * *
We went to the Lynnwood Skate-and-Bowl on Saturday, for the Norwescon kickoff. Chloë has skated three or four times before, but Maia never has. When they got into her skates she had some trouble standing, but she worked at it, and shuffled gamely across the carpet. After some practice she fell down a slight incline--not her first fall, but her first one that hurt. She cried, naturally, and said she didn't want to go on the rink, so Eric took Chloë out, as she was ready to move on. But they hadn't gotten more than a quarter of the way around the rink when Maia said, "I wish we were with Chloë and Daddy," and I said, "We could go out and try to catch them, " and she said, "Okay."
We stepped into the rink. She was mostly shuffling her feet back and forth, and steadfastly ignoring all my attempts to teach her otherwise, but she clung to my hand and managed some forward movement. She fell a couple of times, but she kept getting back up and shuffling some more, and every once in a while she would exclaim, "I'm doing it!"
Meanwhile ahead of us, Eric reported later, Chloë was struggling to get better, and crying, as she too often does, "I can't do it." We've noticed that Maia tends to be better at things that require physical agility--I blame jaundice--but I don't know how much of that is her much more positive attitude. Chloë has shown determination to do a few things--such as guitar; she got one for her birthday and has been surprisingly diligent about asking for "guitar lessons" from me and about working on her fingering, even though she finds it difficult. (We're looking for a place for lessons around here with an actual teacher.) But most of the time if she has any sort of difficulty, she dissolves into tears and won't keep working on the problem without a lot of prompting. Maia has that reaction sometimes, but more often she just goes ahead and tries things. We never quite caught up with Chloë on that trip around the rink (though Eric spotted us and visited), but at our closest point I commented to Maia, "We're halfway across the rink," and she looked back and said, "No, Mama. Not halfway. Look!" I looked back and realized that while I'd meant halfway around the rink, we were all the way across, and she was awed at the distance she'd skated. She wanted to stop after we completed our circuit, and not long after that we traded our skates for bowling shoes, but she was so excited and proud of herself, and so was I.
Showing posts with label water baby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label water baby. Show all posts
Monday, September 14, 2015
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Status report: Maia, month 13
Oh my Maia, the walker. In just the past few days she's shifted from mostly crawling to mostly walking. It's still that funny, move-the-whole-leg-as-one-unit walk, but it won't be for long. I told her months ago that I'm allowed to call her a baby until she walks, but I changed my mind. I'm allowed to call her a baby until she can tell me to knock it off. Even if saying it doesn't make it true.
One of her books is Sandra Boynton's Moo, Baa, La La La, and I've noticed she especially likes the little dogs (they go ruff ruff ruff). We read Biscuit the other day and she pointed to Biscuit and panted like a dog. And I was delighted because that's exactly how Chloë used to identify dogs, and then to identify the noise they make. Ask her now and she says, "Dogs say wuff wuff." But Maia has taken up the mantle! I love it!
"Cheese" is definitely her first word. We may be working on "ball," but I'm not positive yet. I've asked her to say "up," but whenever I do she just raises her arms, which is "up," so I can't really argue.
She climbs stairs now--did I mention? She loves climbing the stairs. At first she was off like a shot whenever we forgot to put up the gate, but now she looks and waits for our approval before she climbs. She's much more adventurous than Chloë was at this age (or ever); she rocks the rocking horses hard, stands up on them, climbs up and down and around.
She's also gotten interested in her stuffed animals lately. There are a few in her crib, and the past few nights I've offered one to her. Sometimes she'll shake her head, and sometimes she'll accept it and hug it to her as I lay her down to sleep.
In just the last few days she's gone from a water baby to water-phobic and...probably...back again. She generally can't wait to get in the bath, but the last two baths she cried the entire time she was in the water. I vaguely recall a phase like this with Chloë, in which we got in the bath with her at least a couple of times to make things easier. I tried putting my feet in the water so she could hold onto me while I scrubbed her this last time, but it didn't help. Then, we went over to Nancy and Don's for Memorial Day, and Maia had her first barefoot-in-the-grass experience, and also her first splashing-in-the-water-table experience. Her bath yesterday went just fine. So we'll hope that was a momentary phase.
As mentioned, she didn't get to eat her birthday cake because she was sick; but Mom and Dad sent us an anniversary cake, and she had some of that instead. She enjoyed it. A lot.
(We started her on using a spoon, but haven't been real serious about it. Second baby syndrome, I can see it.)
She likes playing with the diaper pail and in the garbage, though she doesn't like the yelling she gets once we notice. And she LOVES books. Loves them. A lot. With a lot of love. She points to them before, after, and during nursing. She loves to slide down from my lap, point to one, and wait for me to pull it out and hoist her back up. Sometimes I show them to her, as with her stuffed animals, and she'll either shake her head, grinning at her power, or make an interested noise and settle back in my arm, and I'll start to read. She screams when we say "enough" and put her to bed.
She's a funny, happy girl, on the move, and I think falling over that precipice of "good grief how can she learn so much so fast." She's definitely expressing her wants and preferences, and becoming all the time more independent, knowledgeable, dextrous, and capable. And beloved.
One of her books is Sandra Boynton's Moo, Baa, La La La, and I've noticed she especially likes the little dogs (they go ruff ruff ruff). We read Biscuit the other day and she pointed to Biscuit and panted like a dog. And I was delighted because that's exactly how Chloë used to identify dogs, and then to identify the noise they make. Ask her now and she says, "Dogs say wuff wuff." But Maia has taken up the mantle! I love it!
"Cheese" is definitely her first word. We may be working on "ball," but I'm not positive yet. I've asked her to say "up," but whenever I do she just raises her arms, which is "up," so I can't really argue.
She climbs stairs now--did I mention? She loves climbing the stairs. At first she was off like a shot whenever we forgot to put up the gate, but now she looks and waits for our approval before she climbs. She's much more adventurous than Chloë was at this age (or ever); she rocks the rocking horses hard, stands up on them, climbs up and down and around.
She's also gotten interested in her stuffed animals lately. There are a few in her crib, and the past few nights I've offered one to her. Sometimes she'll shake her head, and sometimes she'll accept it and hug it to her as I lay her down to sleep.
In just the last few days she's gone from a water baby to water-phobic and...probably...back again. She generally can't wait to get in the bath, but the last two baths she cried the entire time she was in the water. I vaguely recall a phase like this with Chloë, in which we got in the bath with her at least a couple of times to make things easier. I tried putting my feet in the water so she could hold onto me while I scrubbed her this last time, but it didn't help. Then, we went over to Nancy and Don's for Memorial Day, and Maia had her first barefoot-in-the-grass experience, and also her first splashing-in-the-water-table experience. Her bath yesterday went just fine. So we'll hope that was a momentary phase.
As mentioned, she didn't get to eat her birthday cake because she was sick; but Mom and Dad sent us an anniversary cake, and she had some of that instead. She enjoyed it. A lot.
On a different occasion we also gave her something chocolate. I forget what. Does it matter? She loved it. Not just a baby, I guess.
(We started her on using a spoon, but haven't been real serious about it. Second baby syndrome, I can see it.)
She's a funny, happy girl, on the move, and I think falling over that precipice of "good grief how can she learn so much so fast." She's definitely expressing her wants and preferences, and becoming all the time more independent, knowledgeable, dextrous, and capable. And beloved.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Status report: Chloë, Month 33
Our girl at two-and-three-quarters is full of defiance and trepidation, "why?" and whine, silliness and fun. I got a newsletter from Pampers today informing me my 30- to 36-month-old should be forming four- and five-word sentences now. I refer them to Chloë herself: "Mama, you're silly. You're silly and I am silly and Maia is silly and Daddy is silly. Our whole family is silly."
She asks--states, really, "Why," whenever I refuse something and often after I merely say something. Where before she would ask for what she wants, now she demands it. "Put on my bib and scoot me in to the table." "Put on my shoes and my jacket." "Change my diaper." (I've started telling her she's going to have to learn to change her own.) We're working on fixing this, and otherwise she's very good about please and thank you, sometimes to ridiculousness. At bedtime she often hangs out in the nursery doorway while I'm feeding Maia. The other day she appeared, saying, "Hello Mama." I said hello. She continued, "How are you?" I said, "I'm a little disgruntled. How are you?" She said, "I'm a little digwuntuud too." There was a short pause, and then she said, "Thank you." I said, surprised, "For what?" and she said, "For hello."
She continues to be a good big sister, though a bit of a tattle-tale sometimes too--but Eric pointed out that it's good to know when she perceives something is wrong, like "Maia is in the garbage," or "Maia is going toward the stairs." She likes to share Maia's food, and is happy to share her own drink as long as she gets some too. They giggle together sometimes. Crawl over each other, too.
Her imagination continues to soar to new heights. The living room is a spaceship, sure, that she and Maia use to blast off. But now she goes to work in the office and does homework, then trims her beard (like Daddy) with a bubble wand, then makes me a Lego cake and takes pictures with a Lego camera. She makes clothes and cooks food, fixes cars, and pours pretend sugar on the floor so she can pretend vacuum it (and then ask me if she missed any).
Similarly, she's now riding her tricycle well--she still needs practice and confidence, but she can pedal and she's learning to steer. Now that the weather's nicer Eric has been taking them out for walks and to the park and the zoo (hence the story) several times a week, and she seems to be loving it.
We've been having her try to brush her teeth for a while, and she does okay, though certainly not well enough that we're letting her take over. She strips her clothes off easily sometimes, but other times she wails "I can't do it. I need help." She won't go down slides anymore either, and certainly not on swings. We're not sure why she's so fearful. We're hoping it's just the age.
She continues to enjoy bathtime with Maia, though she recently asked for a solo bath so she could play with her bath crayons and have some bubble bath. She dislikes having her hair combed or brushed, so it's getting cut pretty soon. I keep asking if she still wants to do that, since it's so pretty long, but she's sure.
She's so much fun to play with these days. I do a "horsey ride" thing with the girls, where I'm on my back with my knees bent and they sit on my lower belly and I jounce them up and down while singing the William Tell Overture very badly. Great exercise for my thighs. Anyway, she saw my cowboy hat, I explained what it was, and now she wears it for horsey rides. Today we somehow ended up playing "knock me down"--she'd sit up, I'd push grandly but gently at her forehead, and she'd fling herself over backward like I'd punched her. She likes Ring Around the Rosie and Row Your Boat and Hide and Seek, though she doesn't get the "hide" concept and isn't strong on the "seek," and loves playing Candyland, especially without the cards because then we can send the gingerbread "guys" on adventures instead of just sticking to the path on the board. Such a happy giggly girl. Strong-willed, and curious, and strange, and a lot of wonderful.
She asks--states, really, "Why," whenever I refuse something and often after I merely say something. Where before she would ask for what she wants, now she demands it. "Put on my bib and scoot me in to the table." "Put on my shoes and my jacket." "Change my diaper." (I've started telling her she's going to have to learn to change her own.) We're working on fixing this, and otherwise she's very good about please and thank you, sometimes to ridiculousness. At bedtime she often hangs out in the nursery doorway while I'm feeding Maia. The other day she appeared, saying, "Hello Mama." I said hello. She continued, "How are you?" I said, "I'm a little disgruntled. How are you?" She said, "I'm a little digwuntuud too." There was a short pause, and then she said, "Thank you." I said, surprised, "For what?" and she said, "For hello."
She continues to be a good big sister, though a bit of a tattle-tale sometimes too--but Eric pointed out that it's good to know when she perceives something is wrong, like "Maia is in the garbage," or "Maia is going toward the stairs." She likes to share Maia's food, and is happy to share her own drink as long as she gets some too. They giggle together sometimes. Crawl over each other, too.
Her imagination continues to soar to new heights. The living room is a spaceship, sure, that she and Maia use to blast off. But now she goes to work in the office and does homework, then trims her beard (like Daddy) with a bubble wand, then makes me a Lego cake and takes pictures with a Lego camera. She makes clothes and cooks food, fixes cars, and pours pretend sugar on the floor so she can pretend vacuum it (and then ask me if she missed any).
 |
| This one's for Grandpa and Uncles James and Nels. |
She's still very keen on her bedtime story, and if possible a naptime story if I'm in the mood on the weekend. She came to me with a piece of paper the other day and told me she was going to tell me a story. "Once upon a time there were Goldilocks and the Three Bear Pirates," she began. "They went to the zoo and the park." The switch to afternoon naps was a necessary and probably a good step, but otherwise sleep has been bad this month; for a while she was getting to sleep between ten and eleven after hours of whining or crying or lying awake, kicking the walls or playing with her turtle nightlight on the floor. When I invited her to bring the turtle to bed with her she stopped getting out of bed, and the past couple of nights she hasn't put up a fuss at bedtime. I don't think the turtle was the true root of the problem, but we'll take what we can get.
She's always putting things in her mouth and nose, often her fingers, and very often licks her hands while I'm telling her bedtime story. I asked her whether it felt good on her mouth or her hands more, and she said her hands. I don't know what to do about that. She's also very keen on washing her hands, especially now that she can reach the faucet and soap to do it herself. She continues to enjoy getting lotion for her hands or her ows, but now it's mostly so she can wash it off afterward "with a lot of soap and water."
Similarly, she's now riding her tricycle well--she still needs practice and confidence, but she can pedal and she's learning to steer. Now that the weather's nicer Eric has been taking them out for walks and to the park and the zoo (hence the story) several times a week, and she seems to be loving it.
We've been having her try to brush her teeth for a while, and she does okay, though certainly not well enough that we're letting her take over. She strips her clothes off easily sometimes, but other times she wails "I can't do it. I need help." She won't go down slides anymore either, and certainly not on swings. We're not sure why she's so fearful. We're hoping it's just the age.
She continues to enjoy bathtime with Maia, though she recently asked for a solo bath so she could play with her bath crayons and have some bubble bath. She dislikes having her hair combed or brushed, so it's getting cut pretty soon. I keep asking if she still wants to do that, since it's so pretty long, but she's sure.
She had a marvelous time on "bacation," in South Haven, and refers to it often--as well as other things that prove her memory is getting longer and better all the time. Not to mention the times when she asks for, say, naked time before bedtime, I say yes, and when we get to 8 PM Eric says "Time for jammies," and she says, "Mommy said I could have naked time!" and I have to explain that when I said that I had assumed we'd be finishing baths on time. A fine memory.
She's so much fun to play with these days. I do a "horsey ride" thing with the girls, where I'm on my back with my knees bent and they sit on my lower belly and I jounce them up and down while singing the William Tell Overture very badly. Great exercise for my thighs. Anyway, she saw my cowboy hat, I explained what it was, and now she wears it for horsey rides. Today we somehow ended up playing "knock me down"--she'd sit up, I'd push grandly but gently at her forehead, and she'd fling herself over backward like I'd punched her. She likes Ring Around the Rosie and Row Your Boat and Hide and Seek, though she doesn't get the "hide" concept and isn't strong on the "seek," and loves playing Candyland, especially without the cards because then we can send the gingerbread "guys" on adventures instead of just sticking to the path on the board. Such a happy giggly girl. Strong-willed, and curious, and strange, and a lot of wonderful.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Status report: Chloë, Month 32, and Maia, Month 11
Well, let's get the big thing out of the way. Chloë is not potty-trained. Things didn't go as planned with Boot Camp, and we took it down. For now. The potty is in the closet, the underwear and Pull-Ups (actually Easy-Ups) and sticker chart are put away, and Chloë is free to pee wherever she pleases. Though she seems uneasy doing anything other than our old routine, sitting on the potty with the diaper on. I actually took the potty out of storage this evening for her to sit on. I put it away again, but we can't decide whether we should let her stick to that routine and maybe move on when she feels like it, or effectively say "You're not big enough to have the potty yet" and keep it in storage. Anybody have an opinion?
Other than the potty issue, Chloë continues to impress us with her bigness and awesomeness and whininess. She seems to have grasped the concept of counting--where before she'd be faced with five ladybugs and count up until she couldn't count anymore, now she knows to stop when she runs out of ladybugs. We count toes and birds and flies on the window at her instigation. She can sing her ABCs, and most of Twinkle Star, and a lot of "Dowah do ha day," a.k.a. "Polly Wolly Doodle," her favorite bedtime song. She's got a few of her books mostly memorized, and will pull out random quotes from them to keep us on our toes. She loves the park and the zoo, and talks with interest about our upcoming "bacation," asking, "What will be at bacation?" and when I tell her, "What else?" She says things like "You should be more cartul (careful) next time. In the future," and "My toe hurts. Will a bandaid help?" and "Dora and Boots are in the car with us," and, when I inquire whether they're wearing seatbelts, "They are. They will come into the grocery store with us, too."
She's pretty good at please and thank-you, and sometimes astonishes me with her generosity ("Would you like a bite?" she said today, offering me part of the half-cupcake she had been asking for half the night; when eating her beloved string cheese she'll say "Can Maia have some of my string cheese?" and break off tiny portions for her). She exclaims, "What happened?" when something unexpected has occurred. She asks how my day was, and how I'm doing. When I ask her in return she says, "A little bit bad, but not much." I ask why it was bad, and she says, "Because Daddy told me no we couldn't go to the zoo today because it was raining." I love having actual conversations with her like this.
She's been helping me plant my garden this spring. First she helped with seed-starting; then watering the seedlings; then transplanting, as well as direct-sowing seeds outdoors. She's good at putting beans and peas into premade holes in the ground. Sprinkling carrot seed evenly across a row, not so much. Her favorite part of gardening so far is thinning, as she gets to eat the rejected seedlings. How do you get a two-year-old to eat raw kale and Swiss chard and choy sum? This is how.
She also repeats requests, a lot, even after we've acknowledged and agreed to them, if we don't snap to and get her what she wants instantly. "Mommy," she inevitably calls after bedtime in a droning monotone that drives me right up the wall. "Mommy." Then she wants her door closed, or the moon on again, or says "I'm uncomterble" and needs to be adjusted back to comfortableness. She's saying a lot of "I want X...I don't want X," notably with naps, driving Eric right up the wall. She's been much more reluctant to lay down for sleep (except for one notable night she asked to go to bed at 7!) and so may have switched to afternoon naps, but this past week she's been falling asleep in front of the TV when Maia goes for her afternoon nap, so that's obviously too late. A balance is still undiscovered. She's also saying "I don't like X" a lot, meaning "I don't want X right now."
She has been saying for the past few weeks that she doesn't like baths, and has backed it up by major reluctance and tantrums when we make her bathe anyway. But today, the first day after we packed up Boot Camp, she decided she liked baths again. I'll probably unpack this more in a separate post about how I'm going to have raised the first girl to go out for seventh-grade volleyball in Pull-Ups.
Maia is also a water baby (despite screaming whenever I tried to get her feet wet at the water park), and delights in standing at the tub, tossing in toys. She helps me undress her by stepping out of her pants, and seems to be learning "arms up!" a bit. She crawls around in the tub, chewing on toys, sucking on the peri bottle, and not protesting when I wash her head and face, unlike another little girl I know. Maia bathtimes are great. Before the "I don't like baths" business, we got Maia and Chloë in the bath together, and they loved it. Well, Chloë loved it. Maia may not have cared one way or another, as long as Chloë let her crawl on by to get to a particular toy, which Chloë did.
She's very big on "putting things in," and has...maybe?...responded to us a few times when we asked her to do it with a specific thing while cleaning up the living room. (I've started weeding out toys from the living room and the girls' rooms. They haven't noticed. I guess I've only removed one box's worth so far.) She loved playing with the potty when it was out, mostly putting things in it; one day we decided to see if a little big-sister shame would help and put her on it. It didn't ("See? Maia likes the potty," said Eric to Chloë. "Well I don't," said Chloë to Eric) but she was delighted by the novelty.
Chloë has started speaking for Maia...sort of...by saying things like "Maia wants that toy," or "She wants to go first," when talking about bath order. She seems to be making assumptions about what Maia wants based on Maia's actions at the time (which may or may not have anything to do with the question at hand), which I could do myself, but it's still pretty cute. However, Maia's showing her own independent spirit. Admittedly, a lot of that spirit is wanting to be held, or to chew her toy in peace rather than having it taken away and used to make a rocketship.
Maia's solidly eating solids now, pancakes and pieces of orange (with the thin skin off) and tiny bits of hamburger. We had Middle Eastern food yesterday and she loved my lentils and rice, and the tomatoes. Good lord the two of them with the tomatoes. She's officially okay to start cow's milk, not that she hasn't already had it in thieving plenty. We're still nursing, but mostly it's fairly perfunctorily. Then she pushes herself up and points at the bookshelf so we can read a Sandra Boynton book or B is for Bear or Llama Llama Nighty-Night. When I get home she reaches eagerly for me (and I for her) and gets screamingly unhappy about being put down until we've nursed, but I'm not sure whether that's hunger or habit. I know we're heading down the weaning road, but I'm not sure how fast she's going to take us there. I'm okay with letting her take the lead. She bit me once, but she got passed off to her daddy immediately afterward and she really didn't like that, and seems to have learned her lesson. (At least until I hit "Publish.")
She's making more purposeful noises now. Mostly "dah," with "na" and "muh" and "ba" thrown in for variety, and occasionally her usual birdlike screech or a noise like a car engine. She hates it when somebody nearby has food and isn't giving her some. At the table if there's something she wants, she points and babbles urgently, and if I say "more?" she'll assent...I can't actually say how she does, but I can tell. Trust me.
Still no walking, but much longer periods of standing. She loves to be flipped upside down--I have this shtick where I toss her over my shoulder (holding onto her legs) and say "Now where did I put that baby?" If Chloë is nearby she'll point and squeal, "There!" and I feel up her leg to her back and then flip her back down and say "There you are!" while she laughs. She's still a wigglepuss at the changing table, though the tube of Desitin can occupy her sometimes. I suspect the baby pictured on it helps. She's more interested in baby faces than she used to be. She's a funny baby face herself sometimes.
The neighbors whose backyard abuts ours let their brown standard poodles have a litter, and Maia is fascinated by them. They run around in the backyard most days, all seven puppies and their parents, and Maia stands at the office window, or stares out the kitchen window from our arms, and squeals and squeaks and exclaims. Sometimes Chloë joins her. We also put birdfood in the feeder out back, and they both love to watch the birds come around. They get along fine, and I love watching them watch the world together.
Other than the potty issue, Chloë continues to impress us with her bigness and awesomeness and whininess. She seems to have grasped the concept of counting--where before she'd be faced with five ladybugs and count up until she couldn't count anymore, now she knows to stop when she runs out of ladybugs. We count toes and birds and flies on the window at her instigation. She can sing her ABCs, and most of Twinkle Star, and a lot of "Dowah do ha day," a.k.a. "Polly Wolly Doodle," her favorite bedtime song. She's got a few of her books mostly memorized, and will pull out random quotes from them to keep us on our toes. She loves the park and the zoo, and talks with interest about our upcoming "bacation," asking, "What will be at bacation?" and when I tell her, "What else?" She says things like "You should be more cartul (careful) next time. In the future," and "My toe hurts. Will a bandaid help?" and "Dora and Boots are in the car with us," and, when I inquire whether they're wearing seatbelts, "They are. They will come into the grocery store with us, too."
She's pretty good at please and thank-you, and sometimes astonishes me with her generosity ("Would you like a bite?" she said today, offering me part of the half-cupcake she had been asking for half the night; when eating her beloved string cheese she'll say "Can Maia have some of my string cheese?" and break off tiny portions for her). She exclaims, "What happened?" when something unexpected has occurred. She asks how my day was, and how I'm doing. When I ask her in return she says, "A little bit bad, but not much." I ask why it was bad, and she says, "Because Daddy told me no we couldn't go to the zoo today because it was raining." I love having actual conversations with her like this.
She's been helping me plant my garden this spring. First she helped with seed-starting; then watering the seedlings; then transplanting, as well as direct-sowing seeds outdoors. She's good at putting beans and peas into premade holes in the ground. Sprinkling carrot seed evenly across a row, not so much. Her favorite part of gardening so far is thinning, as she gets to eat the rejected seedlings. How do you get a two-year-old to eat raw kale and Swiss chard and choy sum? This is how.
She also repeats requests, a lot, even after we've acknowledged and agreed to them, if we don't snap to and get her what she wants instantly. "Mommy," she inevitably calls after bedtime in a droning monotone that drives me right up the wall. "Mommy." Then she wants her door closed, or the moon on again, or says "I'm uncomterble" and needs to be adjusted back to comfortableness. She's saying a lot of "I want X...I don't want X," notably with naps, driving Eric right up the wall. She's been much more reluctant to lay down for sleep (except for one notable night she asked to go to bed at 7!) and so may have switched to afternoon naps, but this past week she's been falling asleep in front of the TV when Maia goes for her afternoon nap, so that's obviously too late. A balance is still undiscovered. She's also saying "I don't like X" a lot, meaning "I don't want X right now."
She has been saying for the past few weeks that she doesn't like baths, and has backed it up by major reluctance and tantrums when we make her bathe anyway. But today, the first day after we packed up Boot Camp, she decided she liked baths again. I'll probably unpack this more in a separate post about how I'm going to have raised the first girl to go out for seventh-grade volleyball in Pull-Ups.
Maia is also a water baby (despite screaming whenever I tried to get her feet wet at the water park), and delights in standing at the tub, tossing in toys. She helps me undress her by stepping out of her pants, and seems to be learning "arms up!" a bit. She crawls around in the tub, chewing on toys, sucking on the peri bottle, and not protesting when I wash her head and face, unlike another little girl I know. Maia bathtimes are great. Before the "I don't like baths" business, we got Maia and Chloë in the bath together, and they loved it. Well, Chloë loved it. Maia may not have cared one way or another, as long as Chloë let her crawl on by to get to a particular toy, which Chloë did.
She's very big on "putting things in," and has...maybe?...responded to us a few times when we asked her to do it with a specific thing while cleaning up the living room. (I've started weeding out toys from the living room and the girls' rooms. They haven't noticed. I guess I've only removed one box's worth so far.) She loved playing with the potty when it was out, mostly putting things in it; one day we decided to see if a little big-sister shame would help and put her on it. It didn't ("See? Maia likes the potty," said Eric to Chloë. "Well I don't," said Chloë to Eric) but she was delighted by the novelty.
Chloë has started speaking for Maia...sort of...by saying things like "Maia wants that toy," or "She wants to go first," when talking about bath order. She seems to be making assumptions about what Maia wants based on Maia's actions at the time (which may or may not have anything to do with the question at hand), which I could do myself, but it's still pretty cute. However, Maia's showing her own independent spirit. Admittedly, a lot of that spirit is wanting to be held, or to chew her toy in peace rather than having it taken away and used to make a rocketship.
Maia's solidly eating solids now, pancakes and pieces of orange (with the thin skin off) and tiny bits of hamburger. We had Middle Eastern food yesterday and she loved my lentils and rice, and the tomatoes. Good lord the two of them with the tomatoes. She's officially okay to start cow's milk, not that she hasn't already had it in thieving plenty. We're still nursing, but mostly it's fairly perfunctorily. Then she pushes herself up and points at the bookshelf so we can read a Sandra Boynton book or B is for Bear or Llama Llama Nighty-Night. When I get home she reaches eagerly for me (and I for her) and gets screamingly unhappy about being put down until we've nursed, but I'm not sure whether that's hunger or habit. I know we're heading down the weaning road, but I'm not sure how fast she's going to take us there. I'm okay with letting her take the lead. She bit me once, but she got passed off to her daddy immediately afterward and she really didn't like that, and seems to have learned her lesson. (At least until I hit "Publish.")
She's making more purposeful noises now. Mostly "dah," with "na" and "muh" and "ba" thrown in for variety, and occasionally her usual birdlike screech or a noise like a car engine. She hates it when somebody nearby has food and isn't giving her some. At the table if there's something she wants, she points and babbles urgently, and if I say "more?" she'll assent...I can't actually say how she does, but I can tell. Trust me.
Still no walking, but much longer periods of standing. She loves to be flipped upside down--I have this shtick where I toss her over my shoulder (holding onto her legs) and say "Now where did I put that baby?" If Chloë is nearby she'll point and squeal, "There!" and I feel up her leg to her back and then flip her back down and say "There you are!" while she laughs. She's still a wigglepuss at the changing table, though the tube of Desitin can occupy her sometimes. I suspect the baby pictured on it helps. She's more interested in baby faces than she used to be. She's a funny baby face herself sometimes.
The neighbors whose backyard abuts ours let their brown standard poodles have a litter, and Maia is fascinated by them. They run around in the backyard most days, all seven puppies and their parents, and Maia stands at the office window, or stares out the kitchen window from our arms, and squeals and squeaks and exclaims. Sometimes Chloë joins her. We also put birdfood in the feeder out back, and they both love to watch the birds come around. They get along fine, and I love watching them watch the world together.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Complexity
Maia stretched her face into the widest grins this morning and last night. I hated to leave her. She hated me to leave her, too. Her baby love is so simple and easy. She's nursing less and less, but she still loves to be held, and played with, and have her face gently blown at or tickled with my hair, and--like her sister before her--to have tiny droplets of water flicked on her head after I wash my hands (and adequately warn her, of course).
Then there's Chloë, who has taken to telling me, "You are being a bad mommy today!" whenever I raise my voice (which is often) and crawls over my knees when I've got my feet up on the glider's ottoman and protests when I ask her to get down. She took most of my attention yesterday after work; we went to Babies R Us to look at a new potty (she was enthusiastic about a ducky one, but when I asked her conceded she wouldn't actually use it, so we didn't bring it home) and she wanted to sit on the gliders, and have a snack, and have another snack, and have another snack, and to stop and play with toys. (In fairness, it was a pretty cool toy, one of those car tracks with hills and multiple levels and such.) On the way home, she wanted to go to the zoo. Then to the park. Then to the zoo. Then to have a picnic. Then to the park. At home, she wanted pizza for dinner. Then corn casserole. Then tacos. Then not tacos. Then not pizza. Then nothing but tomatoes.
By that time, it was bathtime. Chloë had refused her bath yesterday, on the grounds "I don't like baths," and I told her that she'd have to bathe with Maia the next day, but when it came to it I didn't want Maia's bathtime to suffer, so I bathed Maia alone. She was thrilled when I turned the water on and pulled off her onesie--she's started helping--and she enjoyed her bath very much. So did I.
Then Eric took her away for play and pajamas, and I turned my attention back to Chloë, who didn’t want a bath. Then she needed to pee. Then she didn't know how to pee. Then she didn't want a bath and she needed to pee. Then she got upset when I told her she was going in the bath now and we discovered she'd already peed. I got her calmed down by talking about the water park, but she was still miserable about taking her diaper off and getting into the water--until she was there, when she had fun except for washing her hair, which has always been a trial.
At length she was out and wanted Daddy to comb her hair and put on her diaper, and I was glad to switch kids. I'd been wanting to spend more time with Maia all night, and couldn't. I'd envied Eric being able to play with the happy clean baby while I tried to pretend to be patient with the wildly willful toddler.
At any rate, I put Maia to bed, enjoying her baby simplicity, even through her shrill agitation about being put into pajamas rather than fed milk right away. She finished awfully quickly, but she finished just as quickly a couple of nights ago and I decided to offer her a bottle of formula, and she only had a little before deciding she was done. And she was reaching for her shelf of books. I selected Llama Llama Nighty-Night and got her approval. Before, I've shown her a book and she's shaken her head, and I've put it away and gotten another one...I'm not sure she actually knows what shaking her head means (other than "let's play the 'nonononono...yesyesyesyesyes' game"), but I've treated her as if she does, and she seems satisfied. So we read the book, snuggled up together, and after the last page she closed it for me, and then we brushed her two little teeth, said good-night to Daddy and Big Sis, and put her down. I got in a quick kiss on her head as she was struggling to be put down so she could see her aquarium.
After Eric and Chloë finished their book, I was called to brush teeth and tell a story. Chloë wanted a "picnic in the park" story, she said. I said, "One day, Chloë and Maia decided to have a picnic in the park. So--"
She interrupted, "But Maia can't walk."
"Fine," I said. "One day, Dora, Boots, and Chloë decided to have a picnic in the park." She was satisfied. As Eric said, a talking blue monkey is more believable than her sister walking? But then, she's seen a talking blue monkey tons of times but has never seen Maia walk on her own.
At any rate, I told the story, sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," which I usually shorten to Twinkle Star and she further shortened to Twinkle, with her accompaniment, and told her goodnight. Not long after she called me back so she could have socks on. The fuzzy ones, she said, because the slippery ones would make her slip. I put her socks on and tucked her back in, and went away to be slothful and quiet elsewhere.
I love both my girls, but Maia is easier to deal with these days. She's getting to be a tiny person, which is fun and interesting, but she doesn't have near the complexity that Chloë does. And Chloë's complexity is all kinds of awesome, don't get me wrong, but she does take a lot more energy to keep up with than she used to. I felt bad that I'd longed to be with Maia most of the night while I was with Chloë. Not only is she easier, but I feel that Chloë's actively demanding a greater share of my attention, and that's not fair. But then, Maia will probably have her turn. And she did have her daddy, at least later in the evening (he was working yesterday). But I feel that tug-of-war...I wonder if I always will.
Then there's Chloë, who has taken to telling me, "You are being a bad mommy today!" whenever I raise my voice (which is often) and crawls over my knees when I've got my feet up on the glider's ottoman and protests when I ask her to get down. She took most of my attention yesterday after work; we went to Babies R Us to look at a new potty (she was enthusiastic about a ducky one, but when I asked her conceded she wouldn't actually use it, so we didn't bring it home) and she wanted to sit on the gliders, and have a snack, and have another snack, and have another snack, and to stop and play with toys. (In fairness, it was a pretty cool toy, one of those car tracks with hills and multiple levels and such.) On the way home, she wanted to go to the zoo. Then to the park. Then to the zoo. Then to have a picnic. Then to the park. At home, she wanted pizza for dinner. Then corn casserole. Then tacos. Then not tacos. Then not pizza. Then nothing but tomatoes.
By that time, it was bathtime. Chloë had refused her bath yesterday, on the grounds "I don't like baths," and I told her that she'd have to bathe with Maia the next day, but when it came to it I didn't want Maia's bathtime to suffer, so I bathed Maia alone. She was thrilled when I turned the water on and pulled off her onesie--she's started helping--and she enjoyed her bath very much. So did I.
Then Eric took her away for play and pajamas, and I turned my attention back to Chloë, who didn’t want a bath. Then she needed to pee. Then she didn't know how to pee. Then she didn't want a bath and she needed to pee. Then she got upset when I told her she was going in the bath now and we discovered she'd already peed. I got her calmed down by talking about the water park, but she was still miserable about taking her diaper off and getting into the water--until she was there, when she had fun except for washing her hair, which has always been a trial.
At length she was out and wanted Daddy to comb her hair and put on her diaper, and I was glad to switch kids. I'd been wanting to spend more time with Maia all night, and couldn't. I'd envied Eric being able to play with the happy clean baby while I tried to pretend to be patient with the wildly willful toddler.
At any rate, I put Maia to bed, enjoying her baby simplicity, even through her shrill agitation about being put into pajamas rather than fed milk right away. She finished awfully quickly, but she finished just as quickly a couple of nights ago and I decided to offer her a bottle of formula, and she only had a little before deciding she was done. And she was reaching for her shelf of books. I selected Llama Llama Nighty-Night and got her approval. Before, I've shown her a book and she's shaken her head, and I've put it away and gotten another one...I'm not sure she actually knows what shaking her head means (other than "let's play the 'nonononono...yesyesyesyesyes' game"), but I've treated her as if she does, and she seems satisfied. So we read the book, snuggled up together, and after the last page she closed it for me, and then we brushed her two little teeth, said good-night to Daddy and Big Sis, and put her down. I got in a quick kiss on her head as she was struggling to be put down so she could see her aquarium.
After Eric and Chloë finished their book, I was called to brush teeth and tell a story. Chloë wanted a "picnic in the park" story, she said. I said, "One day, Chloë and Maia decided to have a picnic in the park. So--"
She interrupted, "But Maia can't walk."
"Fine," I said. "One day, Dora, Boots, and Chloë decided to have a picnic in the park." She was satisfied. As Eric said, a talking blue monkey is more believable than her sister walking? But then, she's seen a talking blue monkey tons of times but has never seen Maia walk on her own.
At any rate, I told the story, sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," which I usually shorten to Twinkle Star and she further shortened to Twinkle, with her accompaniment, and told her goodnight. Not long after she called me back so she could have socks on. The fuzzy ones, she said, because the slippery ones would make her slip. I put her socks on and tucked her back in, and went away to be slothful and quiet elsewhere.
I love both my girls, but Maia is easier to deal with these days. She's getting to be a tiny person, which is fun and interesting, but she doesn't have near the complexity that Chloë does. And Chloë's complexity is all kinds of awesome, don't get me wrong, but she does take a lot more energy to keep up with than she used to. I felt bad that I'd longed to be with Maia most of the night while I was with Chloë. Not only is she easier, but I feel that Chloë's actively demanding a greater share of my attention, and that's not fair. But then, Maia will probably have her turn. And she did have her daddy, at least later in the evening (he was working yesterday). But I feel that tug-of-war...I wonder if I always will.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Maia Maia, nighty-night
Maia leans over in the bath to drink the bath water. "No!" I say, but that doesn't stop her doing it. She mouths the faucet, too.
I wash her soft back and her strong legs with a warm, soapy cloth while she stands at the bathtub's edge, holding on with one hand, the other keeping a toy crab in her mouth. She drools. She grins. She lets go and for a second, she's standing there, unsupported. She drops softly back into the water and I take the opportunity to wash her arms and underarms, her chest and feet. I'd play This Little Piggy with her toes, but there's no time; she's moving again, onto her hands and knees to get the magenta cup floating just a bit out of reach.
She sips at the water again, and I say "No!" again, and she looks thoughtful and says, "Buh." She often answers me when I talk to her nowadays, though I don't usually understand her responses. Occasionally I do. This is not one of those times, unless "Buh" means "Oh mother." She splashes at the water with her hands, watches where it goes, splashes again.
I wet her fine, still-sparse hair and her face, and wash her well to get the sweet potato off. Eric asked at dinner if he should bother washing her off, and I said something about getting the big chunks at least, and he took me at my word; there are still sweet potato splotches on her eyebrow, her neck, the top of her ear. She did enjoy being able to feed herself, though. She protests a little as I scrub, but not much; she's too engrossed in gnawing at her cup and crawling after the monster ducky.
I rinse her off and get her delicate bits, and then open the drain. I take her towel off the rack and tuck it under my chin. She sees it and grins, her eyes lighting up, and drops the monster ducky. I pick her up and place her against my chest to wrap her in the towel so we can sit on the toilet and dry her off. Today she twists in my grasp before I've even gotten her fully wrapped up. Is she unhappy and wants me to hold her close? No, she's peering at the shiny knob on the towel closet in the corner and trying to take it.
I try to turn her, but end up drying her face and head and feet in that position and carrying her, monkeylike, into her room. I deposit her on the changing table and keep a hand on her as I'm selecting a diaper and a sleeper. She gets up and starts exploring like a spelunker, arms spread wide against the wall, toes tucked into any cranny, perilously close to the edge. "I'd have thought I'd have intelligent babies," I tell her. "Why aren't you afraid of falling?" I gather her in, hold her high above the changing table, and blow on her as I send her down onto it--quickly, but with a soft landing. She's delighted, but the charm only lasts a second. I manage to get her diaper on her and adjusted properly after five or six of these. Then I'm too afraid, even if she isn't, to stay on the changing table, so she gets flown to the floor.
She picks up a cloth from the laundry pile and covers her head with it. "Where's Maia?" I say, and she yanks it down. "There she is!" I say, and we both grin. When the charm wears off she crawls next door, where her big sister and daddy are playing, and I follow, sleeper in hand. Then it's Chloë's turn for a bath and a good hair-combing; then Maia comes to me again for some milk, at least until she gets up on her hands and knees and finds she can't get her head down to the R.I.N.D.S. satisfactorily, and gives up in favor of trying to reach the lotion bottle. Then it's time for her Sleep Sack and a short book. She's fighting to get me to put her down before I've gotten two lines into her lullaby, so I cut it short and put her down and turn on her aquarium, which is what she wants. I whisper, "Sleep well," and leave her staring raptly, her face blue from the aquarium light. Before a minute passes I hear her I'm-falling-asleep growls, and smile.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies
Chloë has entered the much-anticipated "why" (or rather, "Because why?", which I submit is much cuter) stage. Why is Daddy going to work? Why is it too late to make cookies? Why does water run out of the tub? Why isn't the moon in the sky?
(She's suddenly become extra-obsessed with her "Cat in the Hat in Space" (actually There's No Place Like Space) book, demanding six or seven readings today. It details the planets, the sun, and moon, and a few constellations. When we went to the window this evening to see if the moon was out, it wasn't but Jupiter and Venus were, and Orion was spread out against the sky like a patient etherised upon a table--I mean, like he is in the book. I pointed him out, and she talked about "Orion the Hunter" a few times afterward. At bedtime she wanted to see him again, and--surprise!--the moon was out. "I thought the moon would be in the 'ky. Maybe it would," she said.)
At the same time she's learning various truths about life, I think she's starting to consider withholding some of her own. Today was her bath night, and she had bubble bath, and bath crayons, and toys, and foam letters. It was a complex bath. Maia stood at the rim, as she does, and helped by gnawing on duckies and then knocking them into the tub. I pulled out a few for her to play with, put the books up on the second shelf instead of on the floor so they wouldn't be dripped on when we put the toys away later, and drew duckies for Chloë which she then added orange feet to, so they could go to the grasshopper (don't ask):
I got distracted by something or other (maybe the thought of the nefarious duckipede) and shortly thereafter Chloë said "Look Mama," and handed me Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?, which is a board book we've designated as a bathroom book.
It was sopping wet. "Oh, no!" I said, already knowing what must have happened and considering how to present this conversation. "It's all wet! Was it in the tub?"
"Heth," she said.
"How did it get there?" No answer. I tried prying a couple of pages open, gingerly, hoping the cardboard wouldn't separate. "Did Maia put it in the tub?" No answer. "Did something else happen?"
"Domething happened," she agreed, hesitantly.
"Did you take it from the shelf and put it in the water?" I said.
And there was this moment where I waited to see if she would decide to lie to me. I hadn't presented any anger, but I'd made it clear that this wet book was not something I had expected or wanted. Would she decide to lie to avoid my possible wrath? Would it even occur to her to do so? She's told untruths before, but they've been pretty clearly (a) a case of not understanding a word, (b) not being able to control her language to match her meaning (i.e., "I don't want it! --I do want it!", or (c) being totally silly, never with the intent to deceive.
I'm not sure if it did in the circumstances, and the evil-scientist part of me wishes I had put on some display of anger just to see if that response could be provoked, if she's developmentally mature enough for that. But she confessed, "Heth."
So I told her, calmly, that books are not meant to get wet and only her two bath books can go in the tub. Luckily we have another copy of that book, so it's not a big deal. I wonder how long it will be, though, before her first true lie.
(She's suddenly become extra-obsessed with her "Cat in the Hat in Space" (actually There's No Place Like Space) book, demanding six or seven readings today. It details the planets, the sun, and moon, and a few constellations. When we went to the window this evening to see if the moon was out, it wasn't but Jupiter and Venus were, and Orion was spread out against the sky like a patient etherised upon a table--I mean, like he is in the book. I pointed him out, and she talked about "Orion the Hunter" a few times afterward. At bedtime she wanted to see him again, and--surprise!--the moon was out. "I thought the moon would be in the 'ky. Maybe it would," she said.)
At the same time she's learning various truths about life, I think she's starting to consider withholding some of her own. Today was her bath night, and she had bubble bath, and bath crayons, and toys, and foam letters. It was a complex bath. Maia stood at the rim, as she does, and helped by gnawing on duckies and then knocking them into the tub. I pulled out a few for her to play with, put the books up on the second shelf instead of on the floor so they wouldn't be dripped on when we put the toys away later, and drew duckies for Chloë which she then added orange feet to, so they could go to the grasshopper (don't ask):
I got distracted by something or other (maybe the thought of the nefarious duckipede) and shortly thereafter Chloë said "Look Mama," and handed me Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?, which is a board book we've designated as a bathroom book.
It was sopping wet. "Oh, no!" I said, already knowing what must have happened and considering how to present this conversation. "It's all wet! Was it in the tub?"
"Heth," she said.
"How did it get there?" No answer. I tried prying a couple of pages open, gingerly, hoping the cardboard wouldn't separate. "Did Maia put it in the tub?" No answer. "Did something else happen?"
"Domething happened," she agreed, hesitantly.
"Did you take it from the shelf and put it in the water?" I said.
And there was this moment where I waited to see if she would decide to lie to me. I hadn't presented any anger, but I'd made it clear that this wet book was not something I had expected or wanted. Would she decide to lie to avoid my possible wrath? Would it even occur to her to do so? She's told untruths before, but they've been pretty clearly (a) a case of not understanding a word, (b) not being able to control her language to match her meaning (i.e., "I don't want it! --I do want it!", or (c) being totally silly, never with the intent to deceive.
I'm not sure if it did in the circumstances, and the evil-scientist part of me wishes I had put on some display of anger just to see if that response could be provoked, if she's developmentally mature enough for that. But she confessed, "Heth."
So I told her, calmly, that books are not meant to get wet and only her two bath books can go in the tub. Luckily we have another copy of that book, so it's not a big deal. I wonder how long it will be, though, before her first true lie.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Prizes
Maia laughed at me last night. We were hanging out in the living room while Chloë ate her prize of the day, a cookie ("Mmmmm. Cookie."), at her little table while Maia lounged against my knees. I hoisted her up to "fly" and started making faces at her, and after a little while she giggled. My prize of the day.
We traded in the plastic kitchen/shopping cart/food Chloë's Memaw and Omi had given her for a water table. Since it's the end of summer, there weren't any in the stores we visited, so we ordered online. It arrived yesterday, and once I got home from work we took it outside. Chloë loved it...so much that she forgot to eat the grape tomatoes I picked and put in a bucket for her. In fact she sent Eric inside for her yellow bucket because the red one alone wasn't enough. Instead of talking about the Care Bear show at night as is usual, she talked about playing with the water table again. I know what I'm doing when I get home.
We traded in the plastic kitchen/shopping cart/food Chloë's Memaw and Omi had given her for a water table. Since it's the end of summer, there weren't any in the stores we visited, so we ordered online. It arrived yesterday, and once I got home from work we took it outside. Chloë loved it...so much that she forgot to eat the grape tomatoes I picked and put in a bucket for her. In fact she sent Eric inside for her yellow bucket because the red one alone wasn't enough. Instead of talking about the Care Bear show at night as is usual, she talked about playing with the water table again. I know what I'm doing when I get home.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Erudite
Eric caught my cold, unfortunately. The girls so far are okay (and Maia at least is probably immune). Eric's been eating a lot of chicken noodle soup, and Chloë has asked for a taste repeatedly, but always after he's started eating. So he's had to deny her, but tells her why. The other night at dinner she said knowledgeably, "Daddy eat noodles because Daddy sick." I'm not sure if she actually said "because" or not, but that was the clear meaning. We had some canned chicken in the pantry from the farmer's market, so I made up some chicken soup of her own so she could eat it with Daddy. (Did you know I once promised myself never to personally serve my child meat?)
She's started calling me Mommy sometimes instead of Mama. In particular, when I do something she doesn't want, such as finger-combing her hair, she's started saying "No, Mommy," instead of just "No." But when she calls for me, it's usually Mama--as she says herself: "Chloë say Mama Mama Mama in the morning."
We bought her some bath paints recently, which was a horrible mistake. She loves them. She's clamored for a bath all day, every day, since we introduced them. "I think you need to wash your hands," I told her one night when she said she was all done at dinner.
"I think Chloë need to take bath," she replied. (Note: she does not use personal pronouns yet.)
(She's also started playing "water park" all the time. Her bed is the "old water park," her blanket on the floor (to guard against hurting herself if she falls out, though she hasn't recently) is the "new water park.")
Dad is coming for a visit today (actually, should be there now; I'm leaving work in a few minutes) and she's been looking forward to it. I told her last night "Grandpa will be here tomorrow." We often talk at bedtime about what the next day will entail, and so she responded, "Chloë wake up in the morning, Mama go work, Mama come home, Grandpa come home?" And then, "Chloë have bath?!"
She's started calling me Mommy sometimes instead of Mama. In particular, when I do something she doesn't want, such as finger-combing her hair, she's started saying "No, Mommy," instead of just "No." But when she calls for me, it's usually Mama--as she says herself: "Chloë say Mama Mama Mama in the morning."
We bought her some bath paints recently, which was a horrible mistake. She loves them. She's clamored for a bath all day, every day, since we introduced them. "I think you need to wash your hands," I told her one night when she said she was all done at dinner.
"I think Chloë need to take bath," she replied. (Note: she does not use personal pronouns yet.)
(She's also started playing "water park" all the time. Her bed is the "old water park," her blanket on the floor (to guard against hurting herself if she falls out, though she hasn't recently) is the "new water park.")
Dad is coming for a visit today (actually, should be there now; I'm leaving work in a few minutes) and she's been looking forward to it. I told her last night "Grandpa will be here tomorrow." We often talk at bedtime about what the next day will entail, and so she responded, "Chloë wake up in the morning, Mama go work, Mama come home, Grandpa come home?" And then, "Chloë have bath?!"
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Making a splash
Playing pretend has branched out. Predictably, from food we've moved onto...water. First the sky portion of Maia's quilt was a pool, which Chloe splashed in, jumped in, and caught a fish from to bring to me. (It slapped me in the face with its tail, so I tossed it back.) Later, she borrowed a (green) kitchen towel to spread carefully on the living room floor and put her inflatable ring on as a boat, which she then sat in. Ducky and Oppy swam a little. More fish came out ("candy fishy," she explained, which was good since I wasn't thrilled about the idea of a stack of pretend fish stinking up my living room as they pretend rotted). She laid down in the water and said, "Chloë hair get wet. Chloë shirt get wet." I told her that she'd need to get a towel to dry off, or let the sun dry her, and she looked up at the overhead light and stretched her arms up to it, basking in the sun. I know it's only been a few weeks, but so far, two-year-olds are the awesomest thing ever.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Squeaker
Chloë had a good visit with her grandpa this weekend (sadly, he has now gone back to his home in the computer), climbing all over him and dragging him around to play blocks or color or read or watch shows. Saturday a couple of our friends came over with their kids, and the three of them played in the backyard in the pool, and then on the slide, and then on the slide into the pool (and Dad watched them and, in some cases, doused them with the hose). Chloë's head went under water her first couple of slides because she goes down on her back, so we put her life jacket on her for some extra height, and she was happier after that.
This weekend she also reverted to a previous bad habit: namely, squeaking. Not long ago, she started putting an upward, questioning lilt on all of her sentences; and then she started pushing them up to horribly high, fingernail-on-chalkboard squeaking. I don't know why. We tolerated it and then, when it became apparent it wasn't a momentary thing, corrected it. She was cured, I thought, but then it came back. So we're back to correcting her. With luck, soon she will relent.
This weekend she also reverted to a previous bad habit: namely, squeaking. Not long ago, she started putting an upward, questioning lilt on all of her sentences; and then she started pushing them up to horribly high, fingernail-on-chalkboard squeaking. I don't know why. We tolerated it and then, when it became apparent it wasn't a momentary thing, corrected it. She was cured, I thought, but then it came back. So we're back to correcting her. With luck, soon she will relent.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Status report: Month 23 (Chloë)
Chloë the almost-two-year-old! Eric says, "Where did the time go?" I'd say mostly into diaper changes, but Maia's got her beat.
But Chloë is a happy, running, talkative--oh, so talkative--girl, big and adorable and getting ever more clever and funny. Yesterday morning she was watching my morning ablutions and said casually, "Lotion on mouth no?" (her syntax for "no lotion on mouth," an injunction we've drilled into her since she frequently asks for lotion because she likes to spread it on her face and hands). "No," I agreed. "Lotion on forehead? Lotion on cheeks?" she went on. I concurred that these were okay. "Have lotion? Please?" she concluded, and I, having seen the general drift of this conversation, dispensed some from the bottle I'd already picked up.
She hardly ever asks to be picked up anymore, but she's done it several times lately I was holding Maia. But mostly, she's been a great big sister, wanting to see her and kiss her and know where she is. I'm afraid I've been so focused on the jealousy aspect that I've been overlooking her love for her sister. Recently she wanted to see the pictures on my phone, and when I set the slideshow to run drove me crazy with her refrain of "No, no, no!" After I yelled at her about it and drove her to tears, we worked out what she was no-ing, and it turned out she wanted to see only the pictures that had Maia in them.
She's still a good eater, but becoming more picky--no, that's not the right word. Lunches are in fact usually pretty small, but then she often eats whatever's left over as an afternoon snack. She simply has definite opinions about what she wants now. That's really what's characterized the last month or two, I think. She knows what she wants, and she can tell us (mostly), and if she doesn't get it she gets mad. No huge tantrums, but plenty of small ones--but mostly, she's still a happy girl.
The water park was a huge, huge hit. She still talks about it constantly, and mentions the slide she went down with Mimi or the sunscreen she had to put on or that she went in the wave pool with Omi and Mimaw or the closet she and Addie played in. It also cured her hesitation on her slide at home--we got it out the other day and she went up and slid down, up and slid down, endlessly. It didn't cure her of being a water baby, though. We went to the farmer's market the other day, which is located right by the river, and spent more time stopping along the walkway looking at the river than actually at the market.
Playing hard at Kalahari unfortunately didn't cure her of waking up at 6 AM, but it did help her sleep hard. She's still a somewhat restless sleeper, and unfortunately a frequent nighttime nose-bleeder. She can't seem to keep blankets or sheets on at night, but she sleeps so hot it doesn't seem to matter.
Her vocabulary and usage, and understanding, continue to amaze us. Her record sentence so far is six words: "Milk fall down on blue pants." Then there was the following conversation the other day, while Eric was combing Chloë's hair (yes, he's the one who does it; I used to but he decided to be all smart about breaking out his own comb instead of the baby ones we had and she likes his better):
Eric: Your hair is getting so long now.
Chloë: Koë hair get long?
Eric: That's right.
Chloë: Koë get big?
Eric: Yes, you are.
Chloë: Koë huge!
She has a shape-sorter, has had for a while, that she wasn't interested in. But recently she started playing with it, and now she can easily fit and name all four shapes--circle, square, triangle, and star. She's working on non-rainbow colors, and adoring her Potty Elmo video--I'm starting to suspect for the music, though she's interested in Curly Bear, who's just learning to use the potty, too. "Koë baby nope?" she just said. "Koë big burl?" And yes, she certainly is.
But Chloë is a happy, running, talkative--oh, so talkative--girl, big and adorable and getting ever more clever and funny. Yesterday morning she was watching my morning ablutions and said casually, "Lotion on mouth no?" (her syntax for "no lotion on mouth," an injunction we've drilled into her since she frequently asks for lotion because she likes to spread it on her face and hands). "No," I agreed. "Lotion on forehead? Lotion on cheeks?" she went on. I concurred that these were okay. "Have lotion? Please?" she concluded, and I, having seen the general drift of this conversation, dispensed some from the bottle I'd already picked up.
She hardly ever asks to be picked up anymore, but she's done it several times lately I was holding Maia. But mostly, she's been a great big sister, wanting to see her and kiss her and know where she is. I'm afraid I've been so focused on the jealousy aspect that I've been overlooking her love for her sister. Recently she wanted to see the pictures on my phone, and when I set the slideshow to run drove me crazy with her refrain of "No, no, no!" After I yelled at her about it and drove her to tears, we worked out what she was no-ing, and it turned out she wanted to see only the pictures that had Maia in them.
She's still a good eater, but becoming more picky--no, that's not the right word. Lunches are in fact usually pretty small, but then she often eats whatever's left over as an afternoon snack. She simply has definite opinions about what she wants now. That's really what's characterized the last month or two, I think. She knows what she wants, and she can tell us (mostly), and if she doesn't get it she gets mad. No huge tantrums, but plenty of small ones--but mostly, she's still a happy girl.
The water park was a huge, huge hit. She still talks about it constantly, and mentions the slide she went down with Mimi or the sunscreen she had to put on or that she went in the wave pool with Omi and Mimaw or the closet she and Addie played in. It also cured her hesitation on her slide at home--we got it out the other day and she went up and slid down, up and slid down, endlessly. It didn't cure her of being a water baby, though. We went to the farmer's market the other day, which is located right by the river, and spent more time stopping along the walkway looking at the river than actually at the market.
Playing hard at Kalahari unfortunately didn't cure her of waking up at 6 AM, but it did help her sleep hard. She's still a somewhat restless sleeper, and unfortunately a frequent nighttime nose-bleeder. She can't seem to keep blankets or sheets on at night, but she sleeps so hot it doesn't seem to matter.
Her vocabulary and usage, and understanding, continue to amaze us. Her record sentence so far is six words: "Milk fall down on blue pants." Then there was the following conversation the other day, while Eric was combing Chloë's hair (yes, he's the one who does it; I used to but he decided to be all smart about breaking out his own comb instead of the baby ones we had and she likes his better):
Eric: Your hair is getting so long now.
Chloë: Koë hair get long?
Eric: That's right.
Chloë: Koë get big?
Eric: Yes, you are.
Chloë: Koë huge!
She has a shape-sorter, has had for a while, that she wasn't interested in. But recently she started playing with it, and now she can easily fit and name all four shapes--circle, square, triangle, and star. She's working on non-rainbow colors, and adoring her Potty Elmo video--I'm starting to suspect for the music, though she's interested in Curly Bear, who's just learning to use the potty, too. "Koë baby nope?" she just said. "Koë big burl?" And yes, she certainly is.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Kalahari
And we're back from Kalahari, the water park, where we stayed for three-ish days with the mothers and Eric's sister's family. Chloe had a fabulous time, in the kiddie area or the wave pool with Daddy or me or Mimaw or Omi or Michelle. She started out timid, but by the end was going down the slides by herself, slipping down on her back and lying there in her life jacket waiting for a hand up so she could go again. Whenever we took a break, she'd willingly accept a drink or a snack or a diaper change, but pretty soon she was tugging at somebody's arm to go back into the water.
She got to spend a lot of time with her cousin Addie, which I think both of them enjoyed. Addie tends to be a bit bossy, as befits her role as eldest cousin and four-year-old, but they played in the water and at the kids' playground, and in our room in the mornings, and giggled together a lot.
Maia continues her schedule of feeding every two hours, but with a ratio of seven adults/teens to four kids, I got to spend a good amount of time away from her (which sounds terrible, but hey, I like being in the water too). She seemed to like the humidity and warmth and white noise while we were there.
Hey, how come I don't get to go on the water slides?
This was our first real Snyder family vacation with the girls, and I think it was a success--we all had a good time, and the community of extended family is always nice, and the scramble of coordinating schedules and preferences wasn't too bad. I was happy we went, for all of us but particularly for Chloë. We played hard, which I think is how this sort of vacation should be, and spent today recovering--after a disagreement on whether the concept of "having a bath in the morning" exists, Chloë's hair finally no longer smells like chlorine. Hooray!
She got to spend a lot of time with her cousin Addie, which I think both of them enjoyed. Addie tends to be a bit bossy, as befits her role as eldest cousin and four-year-old, but they played in the water and at the kids' playground, and in our room in the mornings, and giggled together a lot.
Maia continues her schedule of feeding every two hours, but with a ratio of seven adults/teens to four kids, I got to spend a good amount of time away from her (which sounds terrible, but hey, I like being in the water too). She seemed to like the humidity and warmth and white noise while we were there.
This was our first real Snyder family vacation with the girls, and I think it was a success--we all had a good time, and the community of extended family is always nice, and the scramble of coordinating schedules and preferences wasn't too bad. I was happy we went, for all of us but particularly for Chloë. We played hard, which I think is how this sort of vacation should be, and spent today recovering--after a disagreement on whether the concept of "having a bath in the morning" exists, Chloë's hair finally no longer smells like chlorine. Hooray!
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Our daughter the frood
Chloë is having a weird relationship with baths lately. She doesn't ask for them as often as she used to, but she still asks (always complete with sign). Then, when we say "Bath time! With bubbles! Time to get naked!" she wails, "No bath! No bath!" and tries to run away. It's not the naked part. She loves being naked; that's why we say it. It's a special part of the day, being naked "for a while" after getting out of and before getting into her pajamas each day. And when she actually gets into the bath, she's okay. Yesterday she was clutching three of her ducks to her chest, saying triumphantly "Tree ducky!" She still hates having her head wet, but there's nothing we can do about that. Her Mimaw coaxed her under the shower head at a recent sleepover, but that doesn't work for us unless we want her collapsed in sobbing terror.
At the same time, she's gotten inexplicably interested in her towel. There are two that are hers alone: A big rectangular one with butterfly wings and antennae and a square one with an embroidered frog, both hot pink and hooded. She's taken to requesting them whenever we're in the bathroom (the current one hangs on the door) and carrying them around until she forgets about them. She is, after all, not even two. But overall she's awfully interested in where her towel is.
At the same time, she's gotten inexplicably interested in her towel. There are two that are hers alone: A big rectangular one with butterfly wings and antennae and a square one with an embroidered frog, both hot pink and hooded. She's taken to requesting them whenever we're in the bathroom (the current one hangs on the door) and carrying them around until she forgets about them. She is, after all, not even two. But overall she's awfully interested in where her towel is.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Labors of love
I'm sitting here watching my belly move under its own power. Dude, there's a baby in there, I think. And then: dude, it's going to have to come out! Dammit! The idea of labor was much more academic the first time around. Not that I'm living in dread of it this time; I know what it's like, but I also know I got through it and got over it, and I can also reasonably hope that this time will be better or at least shorter.
I'm also contemplating pain medication. I'm wondering if I got brainwashed last time into thinking that natural childbirth was the ideal for no good reason. After all, no one ever talks about natural appendectomies. I still think the idea of a needle inserted into my spine and left there is pretty darn squicky, but then Nancy used Nubain and said it was great, and that doesn't sound so bad. We'll see. I've still got a couple of months to think about it.
In the meantime, Chloë continues to be awesome and funny and ever more like a kid than a baby. Today we went to a quilt shop I'd just heard about, and on the way out she wanted to stomp in a puddle while looking at the moon. (And talking about it. "Moo'? Moo'? Moo'. Howah [water]. Howah! Pa [splash]! Moo'? Moo'? Dahr [star]? Moo'? Ka [car]! Howah. Howah. Moo'? Moo'? Moo'?") She had a fabulous time. Eventually I said it was time to go and tried to take her hand, and she screamed "Nooo!!" and then "Dada!!" (like he would have been on her side) and had a meltdown while I carried her to the car and strapped her in and removed her shoes and socks because they were sopping wet. At home she had to be instantly read a couple of books, including the Valentine's Day book she's owned since yesterday and read about six times already, before I could make dinner.* During dinner, she commented that her eggs were broken (she was eating an omelet). We started bedtime preparations a little early because she was so obviously tired--she was hiccuping, and while on the potty was trying to call out letters she knew from the box of bath foam letters, but the hiccups were interrupting her, and this was totally hilarious. Then she burst out laughing when I pulled her shirt off. Such a giggly happy funny girl. I hope the new baby won't seem too boring in comparison.
*This happens in the morning too. I stumble into her room bleary-eyed and am reading books before I know what I'm doing, because how can you resist a one-year-old in a panda sleeper holding out Goodnight Thumper and saying "Book. Book," and then calling "Dupah!" in imitation of the way you do it, but with an adorable high baby voice instead? And then your spouse laughs because the book doesn't actually have that in it, just a line about "Then Thumper heard something. He listened closely. His mother was calling for him. It was time to go home" and you put the "Thuuuuum-peeeer!" call in yourself, so it's entirely your doing that she now calls "Dupah!" every time you read that page and also at random times during the day?
I'm also contemplating pain medication. I'm wondering if I got brainwashed last time into thinking that natural childbirth was the ideal for no good reason. After all, no one ever talks about natural appendectomies. I still think the idea of a needle inserted into my spine and left there is pretty darn squicky, but then Nancy used Nubain and said it was great, and that doesn't sound so bad. We'll see. I've still got a couple of months to think about it.
In the meantime, Chloë continues to be awesome and funny and ever more like a kid than a baby. Today we went to a quilt shop I'd just heard about, and on the way out she wanted to stomp in a puddle while looking at the moon. (And talking about it. "Moo'? Moo'? Moo'. Howah [water]. Howah! Pa [splash]! Moo'? Moo'? Dahr [star]? Moo'? Ka [car]! Howah. Howah. Moo'? Moo'? Moo'?") She had a fabulous time. Eventually I said it was time to go and tried to take her hand, and she screamed "Nooo!!" and then "Dada!!" (like he would have been on her side) and had a meltdown while I carried her to the car and strapped her in and removed her shoes and socks because they were sopping wet. At home she had to be instantly read a couple of books, including the Valentine's Day book she's owned since yesterday and read about six times already, before I could make dinner.* During dinner, she commented that her eggs were broken (she was eating an omelet). We started bedtime preparations a little early because she was so obviously tired--she was hiccuping, and while on the potty was trying to call out letters she knew from the box of bath foam letters, but the hiccups were interrupting her, and this was totally hilarious. Then she burst out laughing when I pulled her shirt off. Such a giggly happy funny girl. I hope the new baby won't seem too boring in comparison.
*This happens in the morning too. I stumble into her room bleary-eyed and am reading books before I know what I'm doing, because how can you resist a one-year-old in a panda sleeper holding out Goodnight Thumper and saying "Book. Book," and then calling "Dupah!" in imitation of the way you do it, but with an adorable high baby voice instead? And then your spouse laughs because the book doesn't actually have that in it, just a line about "Then Thumper heard something. He listened closely. His mother was calling for him. It was time to go home" and you put the "Thuuuuum-peeeer!" call in yourself, so it's entirely your doing that she now calls "Dupah!" every time you read that page and also at random times during the day?
Friday, January 21, 2011
Down the drain
We're headed out today for a convention in Michigan, potty seat (among other things) in hand. We went to the same convention last year, but back then Chloë wasn't mobile. It will be interesting to see how this year goes. She will unfortunately run short on TV and baths, but both of those shortages are good for her, in my opinion. TV for the obvious reasons, and baths because her skin has gotten very, very dry in patches. I've been applying lotion, Johnson & Johnson and Aquaphor, which she loves. She likes to get dabs on her fingers and apply it to herself, and lately she's started rubbing it on me as well. But it's not doing enough, and I think the daily baths plus the winter weather are just too much. It's a shame, but she plays with Oppy and Turtle and Duck (she's been saying "duck" much more clearly lately, by the by) as much while sitting on the potty as while in the bath, and she's still obsessed with "washing her hands," so I think she'll be all right without a daily soak.
Eric bought her her own bath pouf, which we told her was a "scrubber," because she's been interested in his and mine the past few baths. She likes throwing it around to make the water splash against the side of the tub (or, if it's too high a throw, Mama's chest) more than actually washing with it, but she seems pleased to have her own. At the beginning of her bath yesterday she looked at me and said "Cubbuh [scrubber]?" I retrieved it for her. She swished it up and down her chest a few times, then pointed to Eric's and said, "Dada," and mine and said, "Mama." She repeated this, to make sure I got the picture, then went back to playing with hers.
Later that night we were in the bathroom just before bed because she was on the potty. After I helped her on with her diaper and her pajama pants she climbed into my lap and nestled against me and said, "Mama. Baby. Happy." I melted, of course. But the shower curtain was still open and I know she could see over my shoulder to where all of our scrubbers were in their various places, and now I wonder if she was just telling me she knew which one was her own.
Eric bought her her own bath pouf, which we told her was a "scrubber," because she's been interested in his and mine the past few baths. She likes throwing it around to make the water splash against the side of the tub (or, if it's too high a throw, Mama's chest) more than actually washing with it, but she seems pleased to have her own. At the beginning of her bath yesterday she looked at me and said "Cubbuh [scrubber]?" I retrieved it for her. She swished it up and down her chest a few times, then pointed to Eric's and said, "Dada," and mine and said, "Mama." She repeated this, to make sure I got the picture, then went back to playing with hers.
Later that night we were in the bathroom just before bed because she was on the potty. After I helped her on with her diaper and her pajama pants she climbed into my lap and nestled against me and said, "Mama. Baby. Happy." I melted, of course. But the shower curtain was still open and I know she could see over my shoulder to where all of our scrubbers were in their various places, and now I wonder if she was just telling me she knew which one was her own.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The menagerie
(Today when we went left Target, Chloë noticed the crescent moon up above. We named it for her, and she gazed on it. Then we tried to put her in the car and she pitched a fit because she couldn't see the it anymore. It was annoying, but I kind of love that I have a child who had a mini-tantrum about the moon.)
Chloë continues to be obsessed with water and with her Baby Neptune show. On the weekends we go downstairs after getting dressed and watch it twice. We'd watch it more if I let her, I'm sure. We've now moved to daily baths, every other day a "splash bath," which we got from our friends Nancy and Don, wherein she just gets in the tub and plays rather than being scrubbed. Recently she's gotten especially interested in her rubber bath toys, particularly the octopus and the turtle, because the three main characters on Baby Neptune are a duck, an octopus, and a turtle. So we taught her "octopus," which she pronounces "Oppy," and "turtle," which comes out "tuhtuh." They squirt, and she's been having a fabulous time squirting them--mostly at herself. She gets this surprised look whenever she squirts herself in the face, though she does it all the time.
She also has a stuffed octopus, also from Baby Einstein, so presumably it's the very same one as the one in the show. Its eight legs have different colors and it says the colors when pressed, or plays music when its head is pressed, but it's gotten kind of epileptic the past several days so we've turned it off. Chloë loves it anyway, and has added it to her bedtime menagerie. This has grown from a single stuffed dog we gave her some time ago to five: the dog, which she still identifies by panting, the doll I made her, the sock monkey her (well, my) Aunt Karolyn and Uncle Mike gave her, the Seattle bear she spied on my dresser and adopted as her own, and the octopus. When we put her down for sleep she names them all: "[pant pant pant], Baby, Eee eee eee, Beh, Oppy." She pulls one or two in her arms and hugs them tight, then snuggles down, content in the midst of all her toy friends.
Chloë continues to be obsessed with water and with her Baby Neptune show. On the weekends we go downstairs after getting dressed and watch it twice. We'd watch it more if I let her, I'm sure. We've now moved to daily baths, every other day a "splash bath," which we got from our friends Nancy and Don, wherein she just gets in the tub and plays rather than being scrubbed. Recently she's gotten especially interested in her rubber bath toys, particularly the octopus and the turtle, because the three main characters on Baby Neptune are a duck, an octopus, and a turtle. So we taught her "octopus," which she pronounces "Oppy," and "turtle," which comes out "tuhtuh." They squirt, and she's been having a fabulous time squirting them--mostly at herself. She gets this surprised look whenever she squirts herself in the face, though she does it all the time.
She also has a stuffed octopus, also from Baby Einstein, so presumably it's the very same one as the one in the show. Its eight legs have different colors and it says the colors when pressed, or plays music when its head is pressed, but it's gotten kind of epileptic the past several days so we've turned it off. Chloë loves it anyway, and has added it to her bedtime menagerie. This has grown from a single stuffed dog we gave her some time ago to five: the dog, which she still identifies by panting, the doll I made her, the sock monkey her (well, my) Aunt Karolyn and Uncle Mike gave her, the Seattle bear she spied on my dresser and adopted as her own, and the octopus. When we put her down for sleep she names them all: "[pant pant pant], Baby, Eee eee eee, Beh, Oppy." She pulls one or two in her arms and hugs them tight, then snuggles down, content in the midst of all her toy friends.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Stomping out the old, splashing in the new
The last day of 2010 was an unseasonably warm day, around 50, and the snow had mostly melted, so Chloë and I donned fleece jackets and boots and went for a walk.
At first she was interested simply in the day, in the twigs and leaves on the ground and how the house that normally has loud barking dogs in the yard didn't have any loud barking dogs in the yard. Then we arrived at the corner, where leaves had blocked the gutter and created a puddle. She waded in. Since she was wearing boots, I let her. Why not? She shuffled around, noticing how the water moved when she did. She picked up some waterlogged leaves that came apart in her hands and showed them to me. She stamped. She smiled.
Then she sat down, right in the deepest of the water. I cringed and pulled her up again immediately, but she didn't seem to notice; she wanted to plunge her hands wrist-deep in the water and wave them around, and then she wanted to stomp some more, splashing my boots and laughing when I showed her the dirty drops she'd gotten on them. She sat down in the water again and seemed puzzled when I made her stand up. This girl loves her water. She's become obsessed with "washing her hands" lately because the water creates bubbles on her skin. "Bubble!" she cried, seeing the same thing happen in the puddle. "Bubble!"
She splashed and stomped until I got worried about her getting too cold and dragged her home. She was reluctant to go, but I pointed out the smaller patches of water between us and home, very splashable to a size-6 toddler shoe, and I promised a warm bath with more water and more bubbles, and eventually I was able to get her to our porch, where I removed my fleece (because my shirt is easier to wash than my jacket) and picked her up so that I could remove her soaked, muddy boots and clothes and carry her to the bathtub.
At first she was interested simply in the day, in the twigs and leaves on the ground and how the house that normally has loud barking dogs in the yard didn't have any loud barking dogs in the yard. Then we arrived at the corner, where leaves had blocked the gutter and created a puddle. She waded in. Since she was wearing boots, I let her. Why not? She shuffled around, noticing how the water moved when she did. She picked up some waterlogged leaves that came apart in her hands and showed them to me. She stamped. She smiled.
Then she sat down, right in the deepest of the water. I cringed and pulled her up again immediately, but she didn't seem to notice; she wanted to plunge her hands wrist-deep in the water and wave them around, and then she wanted to stomp some more, splashing my boots and laughing when I showed her the dirty drops she'd gotten on them. She sat down in the water again and seemed puzzled when I made her stand up. This girl loves her water. She's become obsessed with "washing her hands" lately because the water creates bubbles on her skin. "Bubble!" she cried, seeing the same thing happen in the puddle. "Bubble!"
She splashed and stomped until I got worried about her getting too cold and dragged her home. She was reluctant to go, but I pointed out the smaller patches of water between us and home, very splashable to a size-6 toddler shoe, and I promised a warm bath with more water and more bubbles, and eventually I was able to get her to our porch, where I removed my fleece (because my shirt is easier to wash than my jacket) and picked her up so that I could remove her soaked, muddy boots and clothes and carry her to the bathtub.
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