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.

Guess where we told her we're going?

Chloë said,"My feet are cold."

"Then we should get you some socks," I replied.

"I think the waterpark would be better," she said. "Because it's warm at the waterpark."

Negotiating the park

Yesterday, Eric's teaching day, was gorgeous--high 70s and sunny--so after work, I fed Maia, changed everyone's diapers, packed up a picnic dinner (peanut butter crackers, Wheat Thins, three kinds of cheese, grapes, an orange, a banana, and some cookies), and we headed to the park.

On the way Chloë said, "My stomach hurts," and pulled up her shirt to clutch at it. She'd had nearly a cup of black beans as a snack before we left, and I suspected that was the problem. We were also proceeding extremely slowly, as Chloë has lately seemed constitutionally incapable of walking more than two paces together without stopping to look at a crack or duck behind a tree or point out a fire hydrant or a plane. So I said, "I tell you what. Since your stomach hurts and we're going very slowly, I don't think the park is a good idea. Let's turn around. We'll have a picnic in our yard."

Chloë hesitated. She pulled at her shirt again and said, "My stomach only hurts a little." I looked at her, and she looked up at me, her whole face trembling, and said, "I really want to go to the park." It was clear she was about to cry, but she wasn't doing it yet; she was holding herself in.

So I relented, and she started running so I couldn't complain about her slowness. We got there in good time and started looking around for somewhere to sit and eat. The place was packed (and sadly, the garbage cans weren't out for the season yet, so it was littered too), so this wasn't easy. It was even less easy when Chloë ran off to climb up the small climbing wall, though she was stymied by the one-year-old boy who sat at the top eagerly watching her. "This is going to be a while," I told Maia, and pulled her out of the stroller.

Chloë got off the other side of the play structure and headed toward the place where she and that other girl had played "naptime" last time. I went the long way around with the stroller in one hand and Maia in the other. By the time I'd navigated the other kids, the other parents, and the structure itself, Chloë had lost interest in naptime and was looking around for me. "Chloë!" I called. She came running and said, "Let's find a place to sit down and eat our picnic!"

We eventually found a stone bench close to the river. I settled Maia on my lap and opened up our containers, and put bits of cracker and cheese and fruit into my hand for Maia to nibble on. She was more interested in feeding me than herself, but she did get food in her. Chloë enjoyed the repast, but was more occupied in watching the kids on the baby swings and the dog-walkers going past and the water. "Where are the boatses?" she said. We did see one motorboat, and also a floatplane taking off, and a little boy on a tricycle. "Will you get me one of those someday?" she asked. I laughed and said no, she had an even better one at home, and next time we went outside she should try it.

After we finished the meal with a cookie (well, two for me--but they were small), we packed up and headed over to the other play structure, where we witnessed a girl going across the monkey bars properly, which Chloë may never have seen before. Maia pointed at the flag above us, snapping in the wind. "Look!" said Chloë, pointing to the flag pole. "A tall rocketship!"

"It's getting late," I said. "You can go down another slide, and then we have to go." She jaunted onto the structure to get to her slide of choice. "Time to go home," I said.

"I want to go down two slides," she said.

"I said one."

"I really want to go down two."

"If you do, then we go home right away afterward with no whining, crying, or screaming," I said. She agreed, so I gave in and she ran back up the ramp. She picked a short slide, which surprised me; but when she came off I said, "Okay, let's go," and she immediately started walking with me toward the street, no argument.

"Thank you for going to the park!" she said.

"How's your stomach?" I asked.

She reached under her shirt to pat it. "It feels all better!" she said, sounding surprised. Then she had to point out a girl with sparkly streamers on her bike and asked "What did we have for our picnic?", and we talked the whole slow way home.

Chloë can read memorize and repeat!

Conversations with Chloë

[At the park]
Me: It's time to go home.
Chloë: I want to play just a couple more minutes.
Me: No. It's time to go. I told you a couple of minutes ago that we'd be leaving soon.
Chloë: I want to plaaaaaaaay!
[Screaming and sobbing ensue. I yell. She wails. We start walking out of the park.]
Me [noticing her rub her eyes]: Do you want me to carry you?
Chloë: Yes. [Brightly, as if there are no tears on her cheeks:] Thank you for going to the park!

[At bedtime]
Chloë: I want the space story.
Me: Okay, I will tell you the space story. Then I'm going to go, and you're not going to whine about it. Okay?
Chloë: Okay.
Me: [Tells the space story, in which Dora, Boots, and Isa help Chloe get to Pluto's moon to retrieve her spare engine to fix her spaceship. Chloë, as always, giggles when Boots says "But where's the sun?" and Dora says "It's right there, Boots. It's the brightest thing in the sky" and Boots says "Oh yeah. Silly me" and finishes the story with "and they live happily ever after" when I forget.] Good night, sweetheart.
Chloë: But, but I want...
Me: We agreed you weren't going to whine. Remember?
Chloë: But I like to whine.

[In the garden]
Me: I'm going to take this plastic off the dirt.
Chloë: What is dirt for?
Me: ...It's for growing things. This is where we're going to plant our vegetables when it's warmer.
Chloë: Can I help?
Me: Sure. Can you move these sticks to that pile over there?
Chloë: Okay!
Me: Hey, look! A worm! [Picks it up, shows her.]
Chloë: Wow! [I put the worm back. A few minutes later:] Where is the worm?
Me: It's in the dirt.
Chloë: Okay. [Later:] Thank you for working in the garden!

[After reading a book]
Me: We're going to the bookstore tomorrow. We can get you a new book. What book would you want?
Chloë: I don't know. Another llama* book for Maia. And maybe Where Are Baby's Eggs?** for me.
Me: ...I will put those on the list.

*We have Llama Llama Nighty Night. Both girls adore it.
**A Karen Katz book advertised on the back of one of her other Karen Katz books.

More than you ever wanted to know about Dora the Explorer: Journey to the Purple Planet

"I want to watch Dora," Chloë decided Saturday morning after breakfast. I asked which one, and she said, "Purple Planet!" So I put it on and went to the kitchen to clean up after breakfast. I got the bowls and things into the kitchen and was rinsing when I heard Chloë come running toward me.

"The space creatures' rocketship is broken!" she reported.

"Luckily, Isa has one," I responded. Satisfied, she ran back.

I put a couple of bowls into the dishwasher. Chloë came running back. "They see constellations!"

"Very cool," I said. She ran back to the living room.

I started washing the dishes in the sink. Chloë came running. "They have to connect the dots!"

"I'm sure they will," I said. She ran back.

I washed a pot. She came back. "The constellation is a teddy bear!"

"Do you like teddy bears?" I asked, for something to say.

"Yes!" She ran back. I put the pot in the rack and listened to the running feet. "Now there are space rocks!" I said something nondescript and listened to her run to the living room and then, without pause, come back to me. "They made it through the space rocks!"

"I'm going to finish cleaning this bowl, and then I'll come join you in the living room," I said.

"Okay," she said and went back to the living room, where I heard her sit on her chair. I washed the bowl, picked up Maia, and joined her. I suppose she was getting plenty of exercise, but it seemed a pity for her to miss half the show to report the other half to me.

Baby-led weaning

Eric comes in shortly after Maia and I have settled down for Maia's bedtime feeding. She immediately squirms onto her back to grin up at Eric and reach one stubby arm toward him. "Hi, baby. Now pay attention to mama," he tells her. She turns toward me, and then immediately back to him, so he says, "Okay, okay, I'm going," and leaves.

We nurse for a few minutes on that side, the right, but she gets restless, so we switch to the left. After a couple of minutes, she starts squirming again. She pushes herself up on her hands and knees. She sees the bottle from her last afternoon feeding, still holding a couple of ounces, on the table beside us. She reaches and grabs it. She twists around until she's sitting, then topples backward onto my right arm. She puts the bottle to her mouth and starts to drink, snuggled happily against me.

I call for Eric. When he appears in the doorway, she smiles and raises the bottle in her fist in a triumphant salute.