Dear Juliet,
It is September 29th, 2012, around 8:30PM. It has been one lovely yet exhausting weekend. We have been celebrating your birth - the day, two years ago, that you came in to this world officially. As seems to be the custom, your birthday (yesterday) was rainy. It reminded me of the rainy day out of the hospital window on your birth and our trip to Elwood Park Zoo in the rain on your 1st birthday. Somehow the rain connects each year. I think back on them and remember how that singular thing, the weather, made such an impression on my mind.
This year on your birthday, Mommy worked a half day, the rain pouring down as we drove to work. You have started saying "mommy no work" when we take that morning drive. It seems so sweet, and yet, so sad. It might not be the case, but before you articulated it, I was able to believe that you didn't put that morning drive together with me leaving. And now, I know you know. We have some great times on the way there, though. Sometimes if I am being silly or if I am guessing at something you are saying that I don't understand, you'll say your new favorite phrase, "mommy joking" or "joking mommy." This is a riot. You say it in such a tone that sounds like you are smiling knowingly and shaking your head. You also have a set of funny words you like to say. I made a note to add it to my last post, but I didn't, so I'll mention it here. For some reason, you made up "ah boo boo" and it seems to be, to you, the funniest word in the human language. We'll repeat it back and forth with different variations (high, low, quiet, soft, scary) and you seem to love it. Also on that list is "noodles" and "oops" or "oopsie." On other trips, you'll request to put on my chapstick (and remind yourself "don't lick it" or "don't eat it" as I get it out). On others, you'll ask for my notebook and we'll draw things. Your favorites are big/little ovals, crescent moons, full moons, big/little daddies, stars, clouds, big/little circles, sharks, hammerhead sharks, and dolphins. I'm really bad at drawing the last three. And we always look to see if a particular dog is outside on our way to work. Daddy and I started that tradition when you were little and now you have realized it and add your own input. I'll say, "is the dog out?" and you'll say "no dog" or remind me to check the "porch." Maybe our family is crazy? =) I really enjoy sitting with you in the car. I think it is because we have each others' undivided attention. It is hard to talk sometimes when you are always moving. Other times while driving, you request my ipod to listen to "Baby Luga" (Baby Beluga by Raffi), "Punch/Bunch" (Day-O by Raffi) or "night-night music" (Bless My Girl CD). You have definite preferences for music on the radio too. Some times you like it and dance around, tapping your feet. Other times you express your displeasure with a simple request "next please Daddy." (You don't always get that wish granted, though.) You have started putting your left foot on the seat belt and then scolding it with "get down." When it gets down, I pet it and thank it for listening. What a funny game!
After you picked me up and we got something to eat (you strongly preferred my vegetables to the mac&cheese or meat, which makes me proud), we went to the Elmwood Park Zoo. This year we are members, but we've never done the pony rides. So we came with cash and managed to get you a pony ride right before they closed up for the day. At first you seemed a little nervous, but you got the hang of it. When they got you off you said, "more!" and when we showed you the picture we took of you on the pony, you said "that was fun." It was a good day. Several times, you started running/skipping along full speed ahead. It seemed like the pleasure was bursting out of you! Later that night, we met my family at Ikea for dinner. With the furniture out all over the place, you got a chance to play and explore. When we got home, we skyped with Aunt LaLa (It is pretty amazing you can call her that - she hated that nickname as a kid) and you went to bed at a really late bed time.
I couldn't believe the overwhelming feeling of joy I had that day. When I woke up, I felt like my heart would burst with love for you and with gratitude that God had given you to our family. I'm nearly 6 months pregnant now, and I am often worried about being well-equipped to deal with another child when I feel like I can hardly deal with one child and manage the things that need to be done around the house. Especially since I've been pregnant, I've had these major feelings of inadequacy. But I knew in my heart that day, little one (my nickname for you - will it seem totally crazy when there is a newborn in the house?!), that children are a blessing. For all the hard times, it is truly amazing to have you with us, to see you grow and learn and develop. It has gone so fast and I hope I never forget this. The good and the bad - the wonderful memories but also that there are a lot of challenges along the way too. When you are right in the middle of them, boy they seem so hard. You feel like you were never meant to be a mother. How can you measure up? And then you cover my face in kisses late at night, and we share sweet times where our interactions are fitting together perfectly, or you notice that I'm feeling sad and you say "no crying, mommy." And maybe I am not so bad after all. (But I hope you don't only remember my crying! I'm pregnant and trying to nest with a toddler!)
We went for our first camping trip a few weeks ago. You really seemed to love it. You relished being outside, gathering up rocks, and running around with Akira, our dog. It seemed to enliven you. You slept the whole night, but rolled all over the tent (probably because we didn't bring the air mattress). The next day, however, I wasn't feeling good. And, by the time we got home, it was clear I had a stomach bug. I spent that day on the couch or in bed, not being very much fun. Before bed, I got you a little snack and sat with you at the table. You were eating and asked me earnestly, "Mommy happy?" It was such a sweet question. I had spent the day so exhausted, but I hadn't realized you had noticed. I told you I was happy to spend time with you. I was touched that you cared about my state of mind - somehow you've developed empathy. What an intriguing thing!
Today we had your party, a yellow-themed picnic at a local park with a playground. It went really well. The playground was a hit. You had a lot of family to play with and a few kids around your age that you've come to know, including your cousin Ben of course (whom you've started calling "Benny" instead of "B"). I was worried it was too cold, or that I wasn't prepared enough, etc. But as the last guests left, you said sadly "leaving?!" and waved bye-bye emphatically. And then, on the car ride home, you said, rather triumphantly, "that was fun." Mission accomplished, little one. A celebration of Juliet. =)
When we got home, we all crashed. It didn't seem like we even did that much work, but it felt like a long day. It was a great time - I enjoyed it too. So we ordered a pizza (I didn't think I could eat any more fruit or veg, and that's saying something coming from me!) and we all watched Ponyo together. We usually eat at the table, formally, and we definitely don't watch tv during dinner, so it was a fun little treat. And it was cute to see you and Daddy propped up on pillows sitting on the floor, taking bites and watching. Suddenly you seemed so big, but that must be an illusion of the number changing, surely? You couldn't have gone from a child to big girl in one weekend? All my perception?
Before I close, I wanted to mention a few other things. You are definitely your fathers' daughter, because you love field guides and informative books like that. Your favorite is a book about Big Fish. The highlights include the Blue Shark (the painting of which makes you laugh for some reason!), the Mako Shark (also slightly amusing, apparently) the Hammerhead Shark, the man that wrote Jaws that you think is Mommy (I guess I see the resemblance, but it is odd to be compared to a man!), the Yellowfin Tuna (which you articulate very carefully), a section entitled "Not Dangerous But Big" that you request and are delighted to come across, and the Giant Mekong Catfish which you discuss with mommy about how I think it looks upside-down (much to Daddy's chagrin). You also like the books "Owl Babies" and "Moonhorse."
We got a twin bed for you about a week ago. I had this feeling you would take to it, but I anticipated a struggle. It makes me sad, but ever since you stopped nursing to sleep, you haven't been an easy sleeper. No amount of cuddling, singing, rocking, or whatnot, would get you to sleep. Instead, as soon as you feel yourself getting tired, you pop up and fight it. So a lot of times we have to do our bedtime routine and put you to bed. Sometimes you talk to yourself or play, and sometimes you cry. It breaks my heart, but it just doesn't seem to work any other way. After you go to sleep, you've been sleeping through the night. The rare times you do wake up in the middle of the night, we can cuddle you in bed with us and you go back to sleep. (Though somehow you often push Daddy out of his spot in bed!) Once you figured out how to climb out of your crib, though, bed times were a bit of mess. You would get up as soon as we left the room, if not before. There was not a lot of hope that a big girl bed would be much different. But, surprisingly to me, you stay in it. I am so proud of you, my big girl, to go in to the bedroom at night and see you cuddled in your bed. I feel silly that I ever worried that cosleeping meant we might never get you in to your own bed. It happened on its own, rather organically. This is a reminder to future me not to worry so much about parenting choices and do what works for our family. (Self: Please remember this and give yourself a break.)
One of my favorite routines with you is our walk to church on Sunday. It really seems like I taught you how it should work and it makes for such a smooth and pleasant event. First, we hold hands the whole way. (Unless you get a little nervous around the train tracks (they ARE pretty big and loud) and ask to be picked up. A lot of time this request is made by you walking into the front of my legs and raising your arms nervously.) We stop at the roads and you wait while I look for cars. You don't step in to the street until I say "no cars." This is actually kind of amusing in other contexts. Sometimes when we are out as a family and you are holding daddy's hand, you will stop abruptly at the curb and declare "no cars" before you go across. Maybe it is silly, but I feel so proud of teaching you this safety thing. And I cherish these walks every week. You usually collect a bunch of things along the way - many rocks, clovers or dandelion fluffs, maybe a fallen flower. I love the chance to pay attention to all the small things I don't see anymore when I walk around as an adult. It is a perfect chance to learn again the art of catching the small things. Like the intent of this blog, catching your sayings and preferences, our successes and struggles. At the time, it seems like we will remember them forever. But then you change, you learn and grow. And, as you do, new moments replace the old. But the old ones are preserved here, my memories of you.
I love you, my two-year-old.
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