The Drama

Annie has a rolling suitcase that was a gift from Aunt Naynee (Chaney). It is supposed to carry dolls. She uses it to shuttle her wares from time to time, but mostly it is just used to look super-important whilst walking in circles around our house. Only very busy people use rolling suitcases. Toddlers pick up on these things. She'll start carrying a clip board any day now.

On Saturday, Annie was speedwalking with the suitcase. And screaming with with delight because, HOT DAMN, walking with a suitcase is a good time! No? Just her? Thought so. I digress...

After a few minutes of suitcase racing, we hear an epic crash and silence, then annie moaning. We rush four steps to the other room/other side of the house and see Annie prone on the ground next to the suitcase.

Mom/Dad: Annie! Are you ok?
Annie (in most pathetic voice ever): yaaaaahhhhh

And then she springs up and is back to it.

2 minutes later...CRASH! Repeat the above scenario/dialogue.

This happened about four times. We found it strange that she was a) falling so often, and b) recovering so quickly from these seemingly loud accidents. It is at this point that I realize we could have taken the suitcase away, but since she didn't really seem to be getting hurt-hurt, and was having fun while suitcasing, it never crossed my mind. We did have the presence of mind to start following her to see what was going on. After the fourth time. Quick learners, we are not.

Imagine our surprise when we observed Annie, just when she thought she was out of our supervision, hurling the suitcase to the ground with a thunderous crash, and then gingerly laying down beside it only to start moaning. We went through the whole "are you ok?" scene with her, but because we were laughing this time, instead of the concern in the previous events, I think she knew the jig was up.

So while we are thankful that our daughter is not as clumsy as we had originally thought, we now know she's an accident faking drama queen. Perhaps clumsy isn't so bad.

My Wild Valentine

Valentine's Day is all about love. And sweetness. And candy. And notes to your friends and boyfriends with candy and sweetness and love.

But when you are one and a half, it's about a doughnut for breakfast and a ring pop packed in your lunch along with some old school valentine's cards for your "friends" (also known as Sitter Jen's children).

But even when you are one and a half, you know to enjoy the sweetness on this special day.

A big sticky chocolate valentine's day kiss to all of you.

MWAH!

Look who's talking

I guess Annie's been "talking" for a while now. In between one hundred thousand "ella...ella...ellla...ELLLAAAAAAAA!" (cinderella) screamings and proclamations of "ahhh done!" I have noticed some real words. And some that have become "real" in the adult to toddler communication process.

For example, we only let Annie have one gummy vitamin. For some reason we feel this is an acceptable loophole to the guidlines on the bottle that you are supposed to give two gummies to children over 2. Our medical minds surmised that it surely is acceptable to give one to a one year old. No harm done, I'm sure.
Annie loves the gummies, and after having one, she always screams for more. But we always tell her, "No, you have had your one." To the point where the vitamin is now referred to as a "one". Annie's head might explode when she turns two and is allowed two "ones".

So there are lots of words, but half hardly mean what you think they mean. Or they mean something else and you have to be fluent in Annie to understand. Crayons are A-a's (long A). Binkie is mimi. Teaching a child to speak is a very powerful position, if you think about it. You could really screw someone up, if you were so inclined. Not that we would ever, but there's some potential there.

Which leads me to yesterday. Annie had casually been lolling around with her finger in her ear. Twice she looked at me, finger in ear, and said "huwt" (hurt). Being the aforementioned medical expert, I figured it was a self-inflicted wound from jabbing her finger in her ear. I mean, she just had an ear infection a month ago, which was treated properly with antibiotics. It can't be another ear infection.

But then there was the melting down at stay and play. And the melting down at naptime. And another "huwt" after nap. So I started wondering if my child actually spoke english and was trying to....communicate something to me. Something other than the crazed desire for her cinderella doll or being all done with her dinner.

Doctor was called, appointment was set up, and away we went to get the ears checked. I sounded like an insane person telling the nurse practitioner that annie "told me" her ear hurt. Yes, eating, sleeping, activity levels are all fine. Just that my 20 month old told me. Yes, with words. I noticed a slight sideways glance as she picked up her pointy ear light inspector thing, probably thankful this was the end of the day and she had a limited number of loony mothers with too much time on their hands to deal with. Light goes in the right ear....

"Well, it seems we've got ourselves a good communicator here!"

I try not to rejoice at the fact that my child has an ear infection, but I did do a little inner Mommy happy dance. Sweet, sweet vindication. Bad, bad ear infection.

Dahter=Water

Getting Annie to drink milk is a struggle. She's not a big fan and we manage to get about 10 oz a day in her. But we waste probably 15 oz a day to get the 10 oz. I feel like I am a shill for the milk producers of America. I am sure that's a thing. I am constantly pushing milk on her. She wants "bites", I offer milk. She wants a pop-pop, I offer milk. I am starting to even annoy myself, so it's no surprise she's fed up with it as evidenced by this exchange after nap yesterday:

Annie: Dahter?
Me: How about some milk?
Annie: Dahter!
Me: Milk sounds good!
Annie: Daaahter....
Me: Let's get milk!
Annie then places her hand on the side of my face and turns me so we are eye to eye
Annie: No. Dah. TER

Water: 1 Milk: 0

20 Months

Dear Annie,

These months keep slipping by. I am ashamed to say that even yesterday, on your actual 20 month birthday, I had to stop and think about how old you were/are. I am really looking forward to being able to just say, "She's two", without having to stop and do some mental math that comes across to the asker like I don't know how old my child is. But then, when you are two....you will be TWO? And how can that be? I remember seeing two year olds when you were born and they seemed so BIG. And you are both so big and so very little.

You had your first introduction to a play group yesterday. I think I was more nervous for me than for you. Everyone loves you. You love everyone. Except for that little girl that tried to steal your goldfish crackers. You smacked her on the head with your plastic cup. It was more a warning shot than anything, but faced with all the other parents in the room I responded appropriately with the "No hitting, Annie!". I noticed no one told that little girl not to steal food....

It was a fascinating glimpse of your personality. You would walk up to any child playing, exclaim "HIIII!" and try to play with whatever toy they had. Sometimes side by side. Sometimes taking a cup that was part of a tea set. Neither of these scearios was met with a very warm response, but you were undaunted. You climbed, you stacked, you crawled.

You did not sit and sing.

You viewed that time as a free for all on all the coveted toys that had been left unattended by those now occupied with the singing circle and you really went to town. You loved the play dough. Maybe a bit too much. When I told you that you couldn't eat it, you just kept putting it under your nose and smelling it. This made me, and any mother in view of you, very nervous as it's a quick trip from the nose to the mouth. But you were good. And even though this was homemade play dough, I'd like to keep you off the stuff as long as possible. No one wants to be the kid in the class that eats play dough.

You are on the move. You talk so much. I tried one time to count all the words you know now, but there's too many to count. And it's always increasing. You are smart and funny. You are tough and kind. You are learning "I'm sorry" and will often follow it up with a hug.

The hugs slay me.

You are a bit busier than the other girls in the play group. They mostly sat close to their mothers while the moms all chatted about vacation plans and whatever other moms talk about. I tried to get in on the conversation and give you freedom to play, but that simply was not in the cards. You wanted help up, help down, or to play "Are YOUUUU?", which is your own brand of hide and seek. While I don't want to be that Mom that hovers constantly, I also don't want to be the Mom that isn't paying attention.

So I stand and watch. You say "hep peesh" and I tell you you can do it. Sometimes I tell you how but I try not to help too much. I try to show you that you are capable on your own, but that I am here if you need me. And I realize that this is how it will be for the rest of our lives. You wanting to do something, me trying to help, trying to keep you safe, but still wanting you to learn how to do it yourself. I know you know it now, but I hope you know it forever that I am always there with you, rooting you on.

Right now night time is my favorite time. We eat dinner, play a bit, Daddy gives you a bath and I get you in your PJs. Most nights we watch a little bit of a movie, then we go brush our "eee-eees" (teeth) and then you and I go read a book or two. Or the same book two times. Then we shut off the lights and you lay your head on my chest. We say your prayers and then we are quiet. You have started placing my hand on your back to give you a little back scratch as we sit in the dark. Your arms are splayed out in a big hug with your hands around my sides. And we sit and I scratch and you don't squirm and after a few minutes you will announce that you want your bed. Twenty years from now, those moments in the dark are what I want to remember.

I love you, sweet girl.

~Mom.

This is why I don't have snacks in the house

I went on a tear on Sunday. I wanted to make Annie homemade snacks for the week instead of processed stuff. I made granola bars and fruit snacks. As a special treat I also made "thin mint" cookies.

The Ritz crackers are supposed to be fully covered but I wanted to leave a clean spot for Annie to hold and possibly avoid a huge mess.

That didn't work. She was filthy. And seemed more interested in the cracker. So no more for Annie.

Rick preferred the granola bars.

That left me.

These things are legit. And I can't stop eating them. As of this evening there are only a few left. And I have been eating them all day. I am thinking of just polishing off the batch so the agony is not dragged out.

1,000 calories in one day is better than 200 calories over five days.

How's that for some squirrelly logic?

Fearless

Annie's not afraid of much. Not dogs, not the dark, not huge slides at City Museum.

Maybe veggies, but that's more an animosity than a fear.

Proper parent-assisted sliding technique. Don't ever let them ride on your lap. Email for details.

So imagine my surprise when I overheard Annie yelling "No! NO! NOOOO!" during bath time, followed by furious splashing. I went in to check on the ruckus and Rick explained that she was afraid of the red towel lint that was in the tub. These things were tiny. The size of...well, tiny specs of towel lint.

Rick dutifully fished 2 of them out and bath time continued. But then a third was spotted. Panic. Thrashing. Splashing. Which makes it difficult to retrieve said spec of towel lint. But Ricker did it and showed it to Annie on his finger tip.

I watched as she cautiously approached his hand, and slowly reached out for the super-scary tiny wet towel lint. She delicately plucked it from his finger (hey there fine motor skills!) and inspected it for herself.

And then she ate it.

Maybe she is fearless after all.