One of the phrases you've been using lately is, "she said yes!" You'll ask Dad if you can, for instance, have one more cookie or a cup of tea. He'll waver, and I'll overrule (or sustain) his decision. When I say, "sure, she can have the ---," you'll call out happily, "she said yes!" because, apparently, I am the alpha mom*.
There was a time, near the end of breastfeeding, when you were somewhat disconnected. I was going to class two nights a week and you weren't so sweet and cuddly when we were together. Dad reassured me that once we didn't have the breastfeeding connection, you'd find another way. And you have; you are sweet and gentle and loving. You hold my cheeks and tell me they're soft. You run into my arms when I pick you up from school. You still want me to rock you before bed, but for "only fifteen times;" you now do the counting.
You are, at 33 months, so verbal and able to express yourself, I'm really enjoying this time. Our evenings and mornings are, for the most part, too short. But in the evenings, you find a way to make us laugh with your funny voices and discussions of football, basketball, and "baby Lucy" pictures. You race around until the very last minute; most bedtimes are spent wiggly and happy until your head hits the pillow.
Most of the time, I say yes -- yes, this is just what I want.
*Thanks for the free t-shirt, Alpha Mom.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Sunday, February 04, 2007
That's so surreal!
Your vocabulary is coming fast and furious these days.
Last week, Dad taught you the word surreal.
Context: You wanted your giant stuffed horse (that an adult can sit on -- don't ask) to do "work" with the abacus while we were all away during the day. The monkey was also doing work -- he was writing poems.
If we mention the horse or monkey's work, you say, "that's so surreal!" Sometimes the word pops up in conjunction with Myra, and we all have a good laugh.
This weekend, you've had a fever and a cold that, I'm sure, will drag on a couple of days. You are extra sweet when you are sick. This morning you placed your (very warm) hands on my cheeks and said, "you are a sweet mommy." And then my heart exploded.
Later in the afternoon, I had to run errands. Usually we go together, but today you stayed home with Dad. You haven't been big on actually speaking into the phone until recently. And today was my day. Dad told you I was on the phone and when he put it up to your face, I heard a small voice: "I love you." There, in the toilet paper aisle of Target, I wished I could zap myself home; that moment, all I wanted was to hold you and stroke your wild hair. To hear that voice, the voice of my girl, hot and weary -- that was something else. It wasn't a bit surreal, not at all.
Last week, Dad taught you the word surreal.
Context: You wanted your giant stuffed horse (that an adult can sit on -- don't ask) to do "work" with the abacus while we were all away during the day. The monkey was also doing work -- he was writing poems.
If we mention the horse or monkey's work, you say, "that's so surreal!" Sometimes the word pops up in conjunction with Myra, and we all have a good laugh.
This weekend, you've had a fever and a cold that, I'm sure, will drag on a couple of days. You are extra sweet when you are sick. This morning you placed your (very warm) hands on my cheeks and said, "you are a sweet mommy." And then my heart exploded.
Later in the afternoon, I had to run errands. Usually we go together, but today you stayed home with Dad. You haven't been big on actually speaking into the phone until recently. And today was my day. Dad told you I was on the phone and when he put it up to your face, I heard a small voice: "I love you." There, in the toilet paper aisle of Target, I wished I could zap myself home; that moment, all I wanted was to hold you and stroke your wild hair. To hear that voice, the voice of my girl, hot and weary -- that was something else. It wasn't a bit surreal, not at all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
