My Baby Duck,
OK, well that was interesting. All of our gains from last month have been erased and then gained again. And then erased. Then drawn in with crayon (we’ve put away ALL markers until you consistently agree to stop drawing on yourself). When you aren’t giving Daddy and I a run for our money, you’re at the very least making us trot.
I won’t call the sleeping front “progress”, but we’ve turned screaming into a quiet whine. I took the “routine” back from Daddio and have added something we call “the chit chat”. Every night we turn off the lights and spend a few moments in a free-for-all discussion. You always start with the same question, “What did we do on Wednesday-Friday night?”, and then we launch into a timeline as you carefully try to learn the concept of “time”. You get so many things off your chest, like retelling the story of how a bird flew into the windows of Grandma Sally and Pa Pa Ray’s sunroom…8 months ago. Yep, still bugging you. You told me about dreams of ladybugs eating your eyebrows! Eecks! You wonder aloud about how many lazy rivers are there, and where are they all located, and good heaven’s, when will you and Aunty Amanda once again float in those lazy rivers? Then I tell you exactly where I’ll be in the house, what I’ll be doing, and how many minutes will pass before I stop back in and rub your hair. It’s not all sunshine, and it takes forever, but at least some of the drama has been quelled. This is our cross, Duck. We must bear it.
It’s not all bad. I enjoy lying in the dark, listening to your thought processes. One night you decided to add -io as a suffix to every word you know. In honor of Daddio, of course. We have had long discussions about words we “don’t say”. You learned the words stupid and bossy and it’s been a challenge getting you to stop using them. Lately you’re trying variations to see if I’ll notice. Yes Sara, I notice when you slip “STUPIDO” and “BOSSIO” into a sentence. You tried “Stupida” yesterday. Nope, still can’t say it, but I’m thrilled with your ingenuity.
Along with being in love with school, you are especially in love with your music teacher. We passed a display of purses at Macy’s and you stopped, gasped, pointed to a large bag on display and whispered, “Mrs. B carries that purse only her’s is PURPLE.” How fantastically audacious. I think all of your teachers are about the neatest women ever. Your school is AWESOME and watching you grow into it is a dream come true.
I think you will always be musically inclined. You announced this month that when you grow up you will be a trumpet-playing doctor. You are aware that those are diametrically different things, but don’t worry. You are going to play the trumpet for your patients while you heal them. You’ve got it all figured out. Why has no one thought of trumpet medicine before? Healing is but a few parade marches away. The school band played in the auditorium and Mrs. P said it was the first time you have been able to sit still. She said you didn’t wiggle even an inch while staring intently at the trumpets. Even your teachers call you Wiggle. Wait until they meet Kelly!
You still enjoy a little Hawaiian music now and then, but you’ve moved onto break dancing music. I’m a terrible dancer to regular music, so I don’t really want to talk about teaching you to break dance. Maybe this is a memory better forgotten. Every dance party now starts with “Let my Love Open the Door”. Not break dancing music, but most certainly your song of the hour. Thank God, because I just can’t listen to any more Billy Idol. It took me a solid week to even figure out what song you wanted. You called it the “Ba Ba Ba” song and then finally, clear as bell using your “l’s” and everything, in complete exasperation you said, “LET MY LOVE OPEN THE DOOR MOMMY!!!!” Oh. Clearly. Ba Ba Ba. What WAS I thinking?! When you say Ba, I automatically think “Peter Townsend”. Everyone knows this.
The big news is that you are Potty Trained. I put it in CAPS because THIS is a big deal. I knew once school started, you’d be done with diapers, and lo and behold, you were. One kid called your Pull Ups “diapers” and you were DONE. You announced (quoting a lovely book sent to us by my dear friend Mia), “NO MORE DIAPERS FOR DUCKY.” On any given day, we go through anywhere from 1 to 4 pairs of panties, but I do NOT EVEN CARE DUCK. Even with the portable potty in the car and the fact that you are attempting to TOUR EVERY SINGLE PUBLIC TOILET IN THIS CITY…this is so much faster and better than diapers. My life just got so much cheaper and easier, I cannot even tell you how happy this makes me. Poor Kel-Belle, I’ll be potty-training her like tomorrow! Just jokes, but seriously, is that possible?
So that’s been our month. The “yuse” (usual)…challenging, triumphant, nail-biting, tears-inducing, belly-laughing, dancing till we drop, pulling out our hair, taking each day as it comes….this is our family. We are truly a rolling circus, but you hug me until I choke at least once a day and whisper, “I yuv you so much Mommy.” And there is nothing on this earth that will stand between me and that moment… and this every single day all day long 24/7 time I am spending with you and Kelly. It is so damned hard that I can’t put it into words. But it is exactly where I am meant to be.
Looking for a Toddler Trumpet Teacher,
Mommy