The Pre-BlogHer Post...Sort Of

So, let's see. It's been nearly two weeks since my last post. I don't know what to say except I'm sure we're all used to this sort of neglect to my poor blog. Also, I've been in and out of a weird funk these last few weeks. Maybe it's the heat, maybe it's hormones (a woman's most reliable scapegoat,) or maybe it's Chris's new hours at work that have added up to less time with him and LOTS of time alone with Charlotte. I suppose it's probably all of those things that have left me feeling stressed, irritable, and at times, overwhelmed.

Chris has been getting home around 5 A.M. lately which means he needs to sleep until about one or two in the afternoon, depending how poorly he sleeps with all the heat and noise daytime brings. So, Charlotte and I have long mornings together, which have lately been punctuated by measly 30-45 minute naps. When Chris gets up, I catch up on housework, bills, errands, and other such minutiae, while taking breaks to spend as much time with my husband as we can manage between playing dinosaur puppets and doing arts and crafts. Oh, and in case anyone was momentarily impressed by that latter statement, let me inform you that "arts and crafts" with our two-year-old is just a fancy way of saying "paint" and "glue paper to...other paper."

Yeah, yeah, you get it. I'm a mom, and I do mom things. And house things. Get over myself. I just feel lately like I can't breathe until the kid is in bed for the night. So, I'm sort of out of the loop all day when it comes to internet stuff. And, I don't always use my evening alone time to catch up the way I should. I am trying to remedy this now because after I return from BlogHer it's going to be even harder to keep up. I'm sure I will meet lots of people whose blogs I want to read and with whom I would like to correspond. So, I'm working on it.

I'm looking forward to the conference for lots of reasons. You know, meeting lots of new people, parties, maybe getting some inspiration for my writing and blog goals, and, of course, getting a break from my day to day life. But, then again, that is probably the only reason I also don't want to go. My day to day life can be hectic, and I'm exhausted, but I have never been away from my daughter for three whole nights. Never more than one night, in fact, and that's only been a handful of times. I'm nervous about it.

Charlotte is at an amazing age right now. Which is not to say there were times in her life where it would have been easy to leave her for three nights, but it might have been easier. She's just so much fun right now. She's started telling me "When I was a baby" stories. I love how she can just make stuff up on the spot. The other night she was walking up the stairs to go to bed, and she stopped, dropped to the ground, and said "I see a bug!" (No, she didn't.) She continued "When I was a baby, I saw a bug. A fider (spider.) A big fider. And he bit me. And I said "Maaaahhh." A couple days ago she made up a story about how she was petting and riding on whales. And she started riding a little scooter some friends of ours picked up for her at a garage sale. It's the kind with three wheels, so it doesn't tip over, and she just shuffles around on it wearing a little helmet, and OH MAN, is it adorable.



Then again...

The whole, stopping on the stairs to make up a story, while heartwarming and hilarious, is also just one of the many ways she drags her feet whenever it's time to do anything she finds even remotely distasteful, such as going to bed or heading up to her room to get dressed. Seriously, what is so hard about getting dressed? I'm doing it FOR you! Just raise your arms and let me dress you in whatever ridiculous outfit I let you choose for yourself. I don't get it. If I happen to suggest something she actually wants to leave the house to do, like the park, for example, she'll be all "Yeah! Let's go!" and start heading out the door in her pajamas. I'll tell her we need to get dressed first, and she'll tug on her shirt and say "How 'bout my jammies?" When I inform her we can't leave the house like that, she'll decide she doesn't want to go to the park after all. Kill me.

And, frankly, I suppose it will be nice to spend three days with people I don't have to ask ONE HUNDRED times to pick up their shoes or come to the table for dinner. And since I can plan on that scenario going on for pretty much the next eighteen years or so, I should probably just enjoy the reprieve while I can get it.

I suppose I should start packing...

My Child is Broken. Help Me Fix Her.

This morning, at 10:45 to be precise, I woke up in my bed, stretched my arms, and rolled onto my right side to find that my daughter's brilliant blue eyes were open.She smiled at me, gave me a hug, and we agreed to go downstairs to watch a little Toy Story 3.

Sounds heavenly, right? I'm sure to those of you whose kids wake up with the sun no matter how late they stay up, it sounds downright luxurious. Sleeping in till almost eleven? On a Wednesday? It's a dream come true!

Except it is more of a nightmare. While I am glad that after passing out from sheer exhaustion at 11 P.M. Charlotte didn't decide to greet the day at her usual time of 8 A.M., I am dismayed by the fact that she has been cranky from the moment she woke up and will most likely take a 2-3 hour nap to make up for how poorly she slept, then be up all night once more.

Or, there's the even more dire possibility that she will NOT nap, and STILL be up until all hours. It can go either way with her. And, yes, the nap would save me a lot of sanity (though from the sounds coming from upstairs, I'm not optimistic) but what I really need is for her to be on something resembling a toddler's schedule, as opposed to that of a teenager on summer vacation.

***

Okay, many hours have passed since I started this post. Update: she did not nap. And she was less than pleasant for the remainder of the day. It was quite the debacle. Chris usually has great luck with putting her down for naps and even sometimes for bed. But, lately she has been freaking out if I'm not around, and once I am in the room with her, there is little chance of me leaving it without her.

So, here's what's going on: I take Charlotte up to her room for her vitamin and to have her teeth brushed. We read a couple stories. I sing her a couple songs. We turn out the light, she gives me a big hug, I put her in her crib, tell her "Goodnight" and walk out.

Or, at least that's how it used to happen. The last week or so has gone more like this: Charlotte prolongs story time as long as possible. Even after I tell her the story we are reading is the last one, and she agrees to this, she says "Again?" or "Different book?" as soon as I am done reading. She starts whining about wanting to come to my bed before I even sing her songs. We turn off the light (after much cajoling,) and right as I am about to put her in bed, or right as I am about to leave, she starts crying.

I struggle with this part a lot, but sometimes I walk out anyway. If the crying abates within a minute or two, I don't go back in. I feel guilty for the rest of the night, but I am glad that she's asleep. If, however, the crying doesn't stop and gets more intense as the seconds pass, I go back in.

I hold her. I rock her. I tell her that I know she can go to sleep in her crib. That she's a big girl. It doesn't matter. At this point, I'm basically stalling because she WILL end up coming to my bed. She cries so hard and asks so pitifully, that not only do I end up caving, I also feel like a horrible parent for even trying to get her to sleep in her own bed in the first place. I know. I'm a huge wimp.

But, seriously, the crying is very unsettling. And she says things like, "Don't leave me here!" Or, she'll ask (through sobs) "Can you go get your bed ready?" I know it sounds like I'm being a wimp, but I get the feeling she's going through something. If I'm rocking her to sleep in the rocking chair, which doesn't work anymore, by the way, and she starts to doze off, she will startle herself awake, and her eyes will frantically search for me. Only after she is sure I'm still there will she start to doze again. But, once I try to lay her down in her crib, even if she appears to be asleep, she'll cry and cling to me.

Once I acquiesce and bring her to my bed, a new battle begins. She tries to talk to me and play. I tell her it's time to sleep and try to ignore her. She nudges me with her elbow or drapes her entire body over me. Anything to get my attention. Last night we were in my bed for an hour, after being in HER room for an hour, when I gave up. I know how stupid it is to reward her for not sleeping, but I hadn't eaten dinner, and I needed a break. So, I brought her downstairs and let her watch a little bit of a movie while I ate and tried to psyche myself up for the next round.

By the time we went back upstairs to my room (She started hyperventilating at the very thought of going to her room, so I didn't even try) she was so exhausted that she passed out in five minutes. Then she slept so restlessly that no one really got enough sleep. She talks in her sleep. Sometimes she laughs, but usually she seems upset. She calls for me a lot in her sleep. Sometimes she wakes up and has to find me and be touching me in some way before she will go back to sleep. Once, she woke up, and I was in the bathroom. She SCREAMED.

So, what do you guys think? Am I being a big wimp, or does she really need me? And, in either case, what can I do about this since it is clearly not working? Any and all opinions are welcome.

To the Potty! Or...Not

Yesterday I was freaking out on Twitter about the fact that at this point when we have a second kid there will be at least three years in between Charlotte and her sibling. Everyone was quick to reassure me that it will be fine, that they know plenty of people with kids three and four years apart who get along just fine, and most importantly, many people reminded me how much easier it will be to have a baby with a slightly older child who can help.

My sister and I are two years apart, and most everyone I know has kids anywhere from fourteen months to two years apart, so in a way it's all I know and the reason I felt like I wanted to do it that way. But, in the end I realized that while a closer spacing might work well for some families, for our family it's probably best to let Charlotte get a little older. Right now she has no interest in babies, unless you count her interest in being really mean to her baby doll. She's also extremely high maintenance, volatile, jealous, and above all, STILL IN DIAPERS.

That's right. At this point in time, my number one consolation for the fact that I will have another year or so before having my oh-so-wanted second child is the fact that I won't have to change two sets of diapers. And that's not even a definite because this kid has NO interest in potty training. Like, at all.

I'm a believer in following her lead, not pressuring her, and trusting her to not remain in diapers forever. But, I figured giving her a few nudges, introducing her to the idea, and then stepping back when she resisted would be my strategy. So, I asked her if she would like to own some underwear, and she seemed excited. She picked out some Minnie underwear, we came home, and I put them on her. She loved them. They were soft! And "niiiiice!" I kept reminding her she would need to sit on the potty (which we'd owned for a while,) that these were not to be peed in. She brushed me off with a curt "Yeah." And then she peed in the first pair. And the second. When she even further defiled the third pair, we called it quits. This was clearly a stupid plan.

I resigned myself to the fact that she wasn't ready. Perhaps she wasn't even able to tell me she needed to go before it was happening. So, I backed off. I mean, she's only just turned two. What's my rush? She'll let me know when she's ready.

And yet, I AM in a rush. I really couldn't even tell you why. Diapers have never been a big deal to me. Changing them is simply what you do as a parent. It can be a little annoying at times, but it was never high on my list of grievances, until recently. But, after two years of mostly uneventful changing sessions, things have gotten contentious between Charlotte and her Official Diaper Changers. She doesn't want her diaper changed right now, thank you very much. She is too busy playing. "Well, okay. We'll change you in a few minutes." Nope. Still not interested. Oh, good. Now she's screaming. I just took a kick to the rib...you get the idea.

She's gotten better about the whole thing, but it's mentally exhausting to have to use so much psychology to get her to lie down willingly so that I can have the great honor of wiping her butt. We have to warn her, prepare her, give her little tasks along the way to make her feel like she's helping. It's quite taxing.

So, yesterday, when she announced she'd like to go potty while we were running errands, I took the bait. And, I took it with gusto. I whisked her to Target where I explained the concept of Pull-Ups to her. I know many experts say to skip these and go straight to underwear, but she's clearly not there yet, and I wanted to ride the momentum I thought we were gaining. So, as I'm explaining how she gets to pull them up and down herself "Just like underwear!" she spots the Toy Story pack and says "How 'bout Woody and Buzz?" Sure! Sure thing! Let's get them! Now let's go pick out a potty!

Charlotte's pediatrician recommended the seats that rest on top of a toilet seat. She said they are softer than most potties and that many kids like to feel that they are using a grown up potty. So, we went down another aisle where Charlotte agonized for a few minutes over her choices before finally settling on a Sesame Street cushion.

The whole ride home I was trying to pump up the excitement. Lots of "You're gonna use the potty! Hooray! And you'll get jellybeans! (Yes, jellybeans. I don't want to hear it.) And you're gonna wear Woody and Buzz Pull-Ups! Yeah! Best day ever!"

We get home, and I immediately begin setting everything up, still chattering with excitement over the momentous occasion that was about to take place. When, all of a sudden, I stop talking long enough to hear some very obvious grunting. I leaped into action. "Charlotte, are you pooping?" No answer. "Why don't you poop on the potty so you can get jellybeans?" "Okay!" Except we were too late. And for the rest of the day whenever she would agree to sit on the potty, she'd say "Pee, pee. Jellybeans, now!" I explained that she had to pee "for real" to get jellybeans. "Pee for real! Jellybeans!" "Um, no." She pressed on: "Pooping, pooping. Jellybeans!" This wasn't working.

When it was time to take her soaked Pull-Up off and replace it with a new one she requested "No Pull-Up. Just diaper."

Yeah, we're done. Son of a bitch.

Happy Birthday, Charlotte!

Charlotte,

Today you are two years old. In some ways I can hardly believe it. As much as I loathe being cautioned to enjoy this time because "they grow so fast," it really can't be denied as truth. It feels like I waited so long to have you, and the time since I brought you into this world has gone more quickly than I anticipated, despite all the warnings.

But, at the same time, it doesn't surprise me at all that you are two. You're so much a part of me now, that it's difficult to believe there was ever a time I didn't spend my days with you. Is it possible that I used to wake up to an alarm clock instead of your grumpy voice calling for me to come get you, and your massive bed head, out of your crib? Could I really have gotten coffee at Starbucks without having to set you down and let you grab your own chocolate milk before you proceed to eat half of my scone?

I really don't even know how to begin telling you how much you have enriched our lives in the last two years. Being your mother has been an incredible experience, and it has changed me into a different person. Well, I'm the same person. I'm just...better. More patient, more generous, more empathetic. I needed you to help me become this person. This person who can take it in stride when things don't go as planned. This person who cares more deeply than ever about people in need and wants to find ways to help. It was easy for me to make excuses for myself before you were here, but now even when I don't feel like it, I need to put my best face forward and be the kind of person I want you to be.

You are also teaching me to be silly. In the last day or so your imagination and capacity for creative play have EXPLODED. We hit a wall a month or so ago, and I have to admit I was getting a little weary of holding one of your stuffed animals while you commanded it to cry and be sad. You still do that, and it really boggles my mind that you are so obsessed with the emotion of sorrow. It is also less than encouraging when you tell one of your toys he is sad because he wants to go swimming in the bath, and when I ask you if he can go swimming since it would make him happy, you reply with a booming, "NO!" You're like the bully of the toy box, and I sure as hell hope you get over that soon.

Last night was the first time you really committed to pretending to be anyone other than Charlotte. You'd dabbled in it before, but would ultimately get confused and insist that you weren't Mickey or a giant or a princess; you were Charlotte. Last night you were Lightning, and I was Mater. You were Tiana, and I was Shadow Man. Today you were Jack, and Daddy was Sally. And then for the longest time, you were Daddy, and Daddy was Charlotte. You even parroted some of the things he says to you, like when you told him he could have carrot juice after you washed his cup. It has been a BLAST. You meowed your way through dinner because you were a cat. It's just beyond adorable.

Enjoying your carousel ride on your big day. You love carousels.

Your dad and I sit around and marvel at you constantly. It's such an intense experience watching you learn and develop your personality. You get sillier and smarter by the day. Yesterday at Starbucks you informed your dad that one of the tables was a circle, and the the other an oval. We hadn't even talked about shapes in weeks. Don't even get me started on your memory. It's eerie how you remember the smallest detail from, like, months ago. Somehow I get the feeling your super-strength memory will not do me many favors in the years to come. No false promises of lollipops to lure you away from playgrounds. You'll call me on it.
Showing us your birthday cupcake with "frinkles"

Digging in

We've had a lot of fun this past year. We went to Sea World, Disneyland, a Santa Barbara trip, and you and I took a trip up to Napa for your aunt's engagement party. Traveling and taking you out is easy because you are generally very well-behaved. There have been preludes of the inevitable "Terrible Twos," but right now you are mostly pleasant and a great companion. I am looking forward to more trips, days at the park, museum excursions, and hikes with you. Your dad and I are never happier than when we are out spending the day with you.
You and daddy on one of the trains at Travel Town. You also really love trains.

Sunday will be your party, which is really just dinner with both sides of the family. I asked you if you wanted a bunny cake or a Mickey cake, and I expected you to say "bunny" because you are infatuated with bunnies. If we are reading a book, and you see a bunny on one of the pages, you will interrupt me mid-sentence to say, "Hey, bunny!" But, you chose Mickey. I was going to make the cake from scratch, but it looks like it will have to come from a box since your dad and I will be out on a date for most of the day before your party. As for decorating? I bought Mickey figurines from the Disney store that I will place on top. I do hope for your sake that you turn out to be less artistically-challenged than your mother. It's quite sad, really.

I feel like there is so much more to tell you, so many more details that would give you a picture of the incredible little person that you are right now. So often I have the urge to record every move you make through pictures, video, or my writing. But, it just isn't possible. You're just too big a personality to shove into the margins of a blog post. You're sweet and caring, except when you're a tyrant. You're cuddly and affectionate, except when you can't slow down long enough for a hug, and it always has to be on your terms. You point to every picture on the page of a book, inquiring, "He says?" because you think everyone has a catch phrase. You make up nonsense words, like "Pumpsy" and use them with perfect comedic timing. When we're in a restroom or a stairwell and you think there will be an echo, you yell "DA!" at the top of your lungs. It's...embarrassing. Every time I make any kind of noise, you say, "What's wrong, Mommy?" You make me laugh. You infuriate me. You make me proud. You make me smile. I can't get enough of you.

Happy second birthday, Bunny. I love you.

You have very strong opinions about your wardrobe. Sometimes it backfires.

Love, Mommy

Adventures in Exercise

I think I need to throw this bag of truffles into the trash. I sort of indicated that I was going to stop eating so many truffles after the holidays, didn't I? I do apologize for misleading you.

But! It's okay, because I actually went out for a run today. Well, a walk/run. And there may have been more walking than I'd care to admit. But, still! I went. And it was quite the ordeal, but I went anyway. Mainly because I have a little friendly wager going on with Cheryl, and whoever runs three times a week, ten times, first, gets a Starbucks card. I just envisioned lattes while I was panting along. There were a few reasons it was such a chore making this run happen today.And they are as follows:

My toddler's sleep schedule, otherwise known as OMGWTF?

We are still trying to undo the damage the holidays did to Charlotte's very delicate ability to sleep like a normal person. We live very close to both our families, plus we had family visiting from out of town. Between seeing everyone, shopping, family outings, etc. she kind of just napped when she napped, if at all, and bedtimes got later and later. It was very stressful, and ultimately resulted in what we have now, which is an almost-two-year-old who goes to bed around ten, sleeps in till nine, and naps late in the afternoon.

In trying to undo some of this damage, I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to make her nap earlier. I'll spare you the boring details, but it was looking like she was finally going to sleep, but not early enough that I would have time to run before it got dark when she woke up. So, when she fought through that last attempt, I threw up my hands, made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and strapped her into the jogging stroller. If she wants to stay up, we're doing what *I* want to do.

The Wind

I live in the desert, and one of the many fun weather patterns, besides crippling heat and frigid (to us, anyway) lows, is the wind. It's intense. Case in point: my friend bought her daughter a trampoline for Christmas. and a few days later the wind blew it up over a wall and into the neighbor's yard, effectively destroying it. When we were kids and lived in a more remote part of the desert, my sister and I would walk down the street to our friends' house where the four of us would each collect a tumbleweed, place them in the middle of the street, then let go and run away as the wind blew them down the road. Good, clean, hick fun!

So, after bundling Charlotte, handing her her cookies, and venturing out of the garage, it should not have come as a surprise to me that I was punched in the face by an icy wind. But that sort of thing tends to surprise you no matter how many tumbleweeds you've ran from or how many times you got a brush stuck in your windblown hair.

I thought for a moment that this was an ill-fated trip, and that we would have to go home. But, then I remembered that the jogging path is nestled in between two hills and might be sheltered somewhat from the blasts. So, we set out, another obstacle narrowly dodged.

My Toddler

This isn't really her fault. But, when we got to a certain part of the trail, where it widens and there's loads of grass just waiting to be frolicked upon, she was pretty much over sitting in the stroller, munching on dry animal crackers, and requested to "Run, run, run." And, I couldn't exactly blame her. So, there was sort of a lull in my workout as Charlotte ran around getting her exercise, falling on her face, getting consoled, and picking up sticks. But, I'd like to think I made up for that lull by pushing her home against the wind.

My (lack of) Stamina

I know this will change. I know I will get stronger and faster, and my lungs will no longer ache and throb after mere moments of jogging but damn is it uncomfortable in the meantime.

So, there you have it. A suburban SAHM goes for a jog. Riveting, no?

The Saga Continues

Here is a haiku I wrote about tonight's session of rocking Charlotte to sleep:

Eyes are not closing
The rocking chair is squeaking
Patience is thinning

And here's another:

If you sleep right now
I will buy you a pony
For the love of God


This is what I was thinking about while I was standing in the dark next to Charlotte's crib, trying to ignore the deadening sensation in my arm because the rocking chair was making too much noise for me to sit in it. I didn't want to lose the momentum I'd gained going through the bedtime routine by greasing the chair, so I just proceeded with the rocking while standing. Although, I suppose if my arm had fallen asleep, causing me to drop Charlotte on the floor, I would have been starting from square one anyway. It was a gamble.

Related to this conversation: I heard a little girl outside call for her mom a second ago, and I thought it was Charlotte calling for me. My reaction to that perception can only be described as full-on panic. Holy hell, that was a close one!

So, yeah, it's wearing on me a little. The reluctance to sleep. The fact that I can't, no matter how hard I try, get her into bed much before nine, and usually it's later. The fact that most nights I'm starving because I usually eat dinner after she goes to bed.

But, what are ya' gonna do?

I Can't Even Pretend to Care Right Now

Okay, look.

It's nine P.M. Charlotte just went to bed. She's been doing this all week. No matter what I do, I cannot get her to bed before nine. It's been a long week.

I haven't eaten dinner. There is a bag of trash I put outside yesterday but was too lazy to take to the dumpster that has now been rained on, so I should probably do something about that. I have the St. Jude walk tomorrow EARLY in the morning. The last thing I want to do right now is write a blog post.

So, call this what you will. You'll either be generous and say that it counts as a post, or you'll be honest and admit that it doesn't. And if you're really out to get me, you might also point out some of the other questionable posts containing nothing more than a picture and a line or two of text, and you'll call me a cheater.

Do what you gotta do. I'm pouring a glass of wine, watching Dexter, and going to bed.

A Day Like This Calls for an Extra Glass of Wine

Guys.

GUYS!

Charlotte is driving me ca-razy! The last two days have been like non-stop battles in a war I am becoming more and more convinced I can't win.

Okay, lest I be accused of being dramatic, I will say this: "Yes, I know she is a toddler. I know she is testing her limits. I need to be patient and consistent, and this too shall pass."

Just last week, I was going on and on about how delightful she has been, and how I am having SO much fun with her. Which, is still true. The problem is that (like most kids, I imagine) she goes from being THE BEST EVER! A MARVEL OF TODDLING WONDERMENT! to PLEASE KILL ME NOW! NO, REALLY. NOW.

Okay, no more caps this entire post. Probably.

Today, for example: we went from her stacking and stacking, block after block, as I looked on in pride and admiration, both of us giggling when the blocks would tumble, using imagination, and having a great time...to a two-hour standoff about putting those damn blocks away. I am not exaggerating. Two hours.

I tried to remain calm. I patiently asked her to help me pick up. I tried to make it fun: "We'll sing songs while we clean!" I walked away and read a cookbook, after telling her that we would paint as soon she was ready to start picking up. I pretended to be aloof and uninterested in whether the blocks made it into the bag or not. Like, "Whatev. You do it when you do it, and when you do, we can discuss our next activity." When really inside I was pondering how much Chris would really mind being a single dad. I mean, he's a catch! The chicks would be all over that!

The whole thing ended in a paroxysm of tears and dramatic wailing, (hers, not mine, mercifully) which woke Chris up after he banked about three hours of sleep. He was able to get her to clean them up (See? They don't need me at all. Barbados, here I come!)And, in the end we were able to finger paint and go to the library as I had planned. Though, the library was sort of a disappointment, after all. That trip also ended in tears and the throwing of one's self onto the pavement in a not-so-dignified way. Again, not me. I'm all kinds of dignified when I tantrum myself onto the sidewalk.

I don't know. I hope I'm not screwing her up by not handling this properly. She is such a sweet kid, and I know she isn't a bad seed. I know this is normal. But, holy hell, I am having a hard time.

I'm pretty much used to taking the good with the bad. Like, it is freaking amazing how much she is talking now. I get such a thrill out of hearing her put together three, sometimes four-word sentences. And, I love her little Charlotte-isms and her bizarre syntax. I love how when she wants something she says "Hab it! Hab it pen. Hab it binkies." I find it adorable when she wants out of her stroller or high chair at a restaurant, and knowing she'll need to hold our hands, she asks "Walk hands?"

But, now that she can use her words to assert herself and get her needs met, we need to work on her manners. Like when I reached for the little box of Horizon milk at the cafe, and she looked me in the eye and said, "I want chocolate." I'm sure you do, bossy pants. *I* want you to not squeeze the box and get milk all over your clothes, but I bet that isn't going to happen, is it?

I guess it's okay when I prepare her a meal, and she says, "I don't like it." It's when she plays it fast and loose with the "yucky" adjective that I get a little offended.

To end this on a positive note, I will say that one of my favorite things about my daughter is hearing her sing. Her little made-up songs are just...so goddamn cool. And it's pretty incredible that she is learning to copy bits and pieces of the songs I sing to her. Tonight it was "Eight Days a Week." I sang "Hold me, love me," and she echoed with "Hold me, Mo-mmy."

And that right there, is why I had a kid.

Wonderful Wednesdays: At the Park

I thought this week would be a good one to participate in Wonderful Wednesdays because this is the first day in months that I woke up to weather that didn't make me want to kill myself!

Seriously, it is beautiful today, all gray and cloudy, with a cool breeze. I looked out the window and was so happy that I decided to forgo our usual routine of hanging out in pajamas until Chris wakes up, and I got us all dressed, dusted off the jogging stroller, and we set off to the park.

Charlotte was thrilled when she realized we were going to the park. She gets a little bored just sitting in the stroller when I've tried to go for an evening jog (which is my word for panting, holding my side, and generally dying, for thirty whole seconds and then walking the rest of the way), so when she saw the shiny plastic kingdom awaiting her as we turned the corner, she cried out "Play!" and decided I was good people and called off this afternoon's assassination attempt.

There was a little girl about Charlotte's age there with her nanny. So, they did the typical toddler ritual of smiling and pointing at each other while repeatedly informing those around them that there is, in fact, another baby in proximity.

It was kind of awkward for us grown-ups, as there was a significant language barrier, but we were able to ascertain the respective ages and names of the kids. Then we just smiled feebly at one another whenever one of the girls would start following the other all over the park.

It took Charlotte a little while to warm up to the girl, but once she did, she very suddenly (and loudly) ran up to her and said "HI!" at which point, the baby looked frightened and asked to be picked up by her caregiver. I don't blame her. Charlotte scares me, too.

There were a few more uncomfortable moments, this time involving Charlotte's new favorite word. First she ran up to a toy that a little boy was playing with, pointing her finger, shaking with rage and growling, "MINE." Which, you know, is typical, and she can get away with, what with her cherub face and all. It's when she starts pointing at human children and asserting her claim with a "My baby" that things get interesting.

Soon enough, it was time to head home. The walk was less than wonderful considering that my inability to comply with her majesty's command to "Run run" all the way back to our apartment complex due to aforementioned panting and wheezing, was something of a disappointment to Charlotte.

But, when we got home there was bacon being prepared by my cute husband. So, back to wonderful.

Don't forget to visit Ginger to see what's wonderful in her world this week or to read her beautiful post about her baby boy turning one.

And tell me what is wonderful in your lives, too!

And We All Made it Back Alive

Well!

For someone who hopes to someday make a living at this writing thing, I certainly am not doing very much writing, am I?

I could go on and on about why I'm not as prolific as I would like to be, about how I spend the baby's sleeping hours hanging out with Chris or resting after a long day of child rearing. Or how I feel too guilty to enlist help during her waking hours so I can go get stuff done, as if she can't exist without me for an hour or two, or I her.

But, what it really boils down to is that I am lazy and lack motivation. Part of that lack can probably be explained by the fact that as my blog nears its first birthday, I'm starting to enter the crisis mode of "Why am I writing this blog? Does anyone even read it? Do I have anything worth writing about? Haven't I written about all this already?" You know the one. So, I'm trying to work all that out. In 100 degree weather, so bear with me.

In the meantime, I have been meaning to tell you about my solo-parent vacation with Charlotte! And, I know you've been waiting with bated breath, so without further ado...

I realize I haven't written about it, but a couple months ago my little sister got engaged to a very nice guy named Patrick. We like him because he's nice and polite and treats my sister very well, but mostly we like him because he makes wine for a living, and, well, we like wine. So, we were all meant to celebrate this engagement at Patrick's house in a little town near Napa. Chris and I had determined we would drive to save money on airfare, and we'd drive up on Friday so we could rest up for the party on Saturday. Then it turned out Chris had to work on Friday night, which meant we'd have to leave early Saturday morning, and he'd only get a few hours of sleep. We might not even make it on time for the party, and everyone would be sure to be in a foul mood after the eight-hour drive, especially Miss Needs Constant Entertainment in the Car. The happy couple wearing their totally cool and not nerdy shirts from my hippie dad

So, we bit the bullet and shelled out the money for a plane ticket, rental car, and one night in a hotel by the airport. It hurt a little to spend the money, but mostly I was freaked the hell out about travelling with Charlotte without Chris's help. The flight is only an hour to San Francisco, but then I'd have to rent a car and drive an hour and half to the house, up a winding road, in the dark. Not to mention dragging around a suitcase, backpack, AND a wily toddler.

Not only that, but Charlotte has been extra clingy lately, and I knew that even though there would be an abundance of family members willing to help me with her, I'd still be on my own since she won't let anyone near her besides me or Chris (or sometimes just me) most of the time. This prophecy turned out to come true, but more on that in my next post.

So, Friday afternoon the three of us piled into the car so Chris could drop us off at LAX. He walked in with us and stayed while I checked the bag and located the security line. He helped me strap Charlotte in the Ergo, took a picture, and kissed us goodbye. The dread starting setting in as he descended the escalator and disappeared from the horizon. I felt like I'd just been dropped off for my first day of school.Moments before we set out on our own

I got through the security check, but not without making it very apparent to all that I don't fly very often. I forgot to take my cell phone out of my pocket. I forgot to take off Charlotte's shoes and put them with mine in the basket. The security guard asked me if I could take the baby out of the carrier. I asked in the nicest way possible if that was totally necessary because I couldn't get her in it myself. This was true, though out of necessity, I learned how to do it over the course of the trip.

After more blunders and deference on my part and some gruff handling on her part, the security guard waved us through, and we started the long walk to the gate. I must have had the look of someone who needed to be rescued. Maybe it was the way my shoulders were drooping from carrying a backpack full of snacks, diapers, board books, and toys on my, well, back, and a 25 pound toddler on my front. Maybe it was the look of resigned fatigue on my face as I trudged up the hill toward our destination. I'm not sure. But a ridiculously nice airport employee on a golf cart drove up and asked me where I was headed, then DROVE me right to my gate. I could have kissed her. In fact, maybe I did. Who can say?

When we reached our seat I started to put the backpack containing my entire arsenal for keeping Charlotte happy on the plane, in the overhead compartment, when I hear the flight attendant get on the speaker and announce the overhead compartments are full, so carry-on bags will need to go under the seat. So, now I'm trying to shove both my backpack and my purse under the seat behind me.

Yeah. You expert travelers out there are laughing at me. Apparently, your bag goes under the seat in FRONT of you. Which the flight attendant finally told me after I struggled for five minutes as people waited to get past me, trying not to trip on the binkys and stuffed Elmos and books that were flying out of my purse. When I finally got us settled into our seat, I heard the flight attendant get on the intercom and explain to the captain that the hold up was a lady with a baby trying to get into her seat.

Awesome.

Oh! I almost forgot the best part. The part where I insist to the surly man that he is in my seat, only to find out that, no, he is not in my seat. And my seat is not by the aisle as I had hoped, but by a window. Trapped. Where I have to climb over two sets of legs while balancing Charlotte to get to the bathroom. Luckily a really nice (and really high) chick offered to switch with me as she wanted a window seat anyway. Presumably because it enhanced her... experience. Either way, I was grateful.

The flight was deliciously uneventful. I had a bad moment where I thought Charlotte was going to freak out during take-off. The plane started to move toward the runway, the engine rumbled, and I tried to elicit excitement out of her: "We're going to fly now! In an airplane! Are you so excited?" To which she replied, "No. No. All done?", and I was like "Shiiiiit." But, she clutched her Elmo in one hand, extra binky in the other, and didn't make a peep the whole time we were ascending. She was remarkably well-behaved for the rest of the flight and while we roamed the airport picking up our bag and renting the car. And, she fell asleep on the drive up to Napa. So, scores all around.

The weekend was great. I had a glass of wine in my hand at almost any given time. Charlotte was clingy, but charming as always. Everyone got along, and the party was lovely, complete with awesome food and awesomer wine. Charlotte and I shared a bed the whole weekend since I didn't have the playpen, and it was so sweet waking up to her little face in the mornings. She even slept with me in the hotel even though I had a crib in the room because she had gotten so used to it. When I woke her up at 5:30 the morning of our returning flight, she bolted up, pointed at the television and said "T.V.!", which just proves that I am an incredible mother.

Clearly.

See? With the wine glass?

The most surprising thing about this trip is how much closer I feel to Charlotte now that it's over. I kept telling Chris about how I was going to check out on Monday because I knew I would need a break from Charlotte. And, in fact, when Chris took me out to breakfast at an outdoor cafe in Santa Monica and ordered me a mimosa, I was happy to drink it and screw around on my Blackberry while HE chased her around and showed her the fountains. But, I also missed her when she took her nap and have been reveling in how much cuddlier she's been with me since we embarked on our adventure. I was so nervous about being on my own with her for three days that I didn't even think to expect that we'd have fun, just the two of us.

But, we did have fun. We giggled while waiting for our plane. We laughed during our dinner together to escape the four-hour traffic jam we encountered on the way to the hotel from Napa. We tickled and cuddled in our bed before passing out from exhaustion after our drive. Who wouldn't want to wake up to this hair?

And, she was so GOOD. She handled the long car ride like a champ. She got upset a few times, but a few repetitions of my crooning "Old McDonald" to her or handing her a snack usually did the trick. Of course, there was the time that she squeezed her fruit puree all over herself and Elmo, and kept repeating "Uh oh. Uh oh." I acknowledged that there was indeed fruit all over her face and hands and that I would clean it up as soon as I could. She kept insisting: "Uh oh! UH OH!" and then inquired, "Keen? Keen?" "Yes, Charlotte, I will clean you as soon as we stop." But that wasn't good enough for her. She kept insisting that I clean her RIGHT NOW. Because, she can eat sand and play with garbage, but having some fruit puree on her person is completely unacceptable. I finally decided that we would either die because I crashed the car while cleaning her off or because I drove it off the Bay Bridge to escape the whining, and I quickly wiped her face and hands while traffic was stopped. Then she started in with "Uh oh! Elmo. Uh oh! Elmo" while gesturing frantically to the fruit on Elmo's foot.

Yeah, that one I will deal with later, kid.

She didn't get enough sleep, but she never got too out of sorts about it. Napping was hard for her because there were so many people in the house. So, as the party was approaching on Saturday evening, I took her for a walk in the Ergo because I had this wild idea she might fall asleep in it. Which, she did! I texted Chris because I was so excited that it had worked! To which he replied, "So, what now? You just walk around for an hour?"

Oh. Right.

I was able to sit in a chair and got 45 minutes out of her. But, out of everything that happened on the entire trip, the thing that made me love her the most, the main reason I walked away from this trip feeling oh so gushy about my wonderful little girl, is this:

SHE FELL ASLEEP ON THE FLIGHT HOME!

Nay, she fell asleep before we even took off, STAYED asleep throughout take-off, and didn't wake up until five minutes before we landed.

I know, right? I watched the in-flight entertainment! I pitied the poor mother with the crying baby, while enjoying my narrow escape from the same fate! I had to pee, but I didn't care!

So, the bottom line is that travelling with Charlotte was great...this time. She seems to have a new personality each day, so I can't say that she would handle other trips as well, especially longer trips. But, this trip was good. And, I learned from it. You wouldn't have recognized the calm, prepared, and organized mom on the return flight as the one who was holding up the line and dropping toys all over the plane a mere two days before.

Then again, it was only an hour flight. All the organizing in the world ain't gonna help you on hour four of a six-hour flight when you've run out of snacks and your kid is screaming about wanting to watch Dora instead of the romantic comedy they're playing.

I think I'll make sure Chris is with me on that flight.

The Good, the Bad, and the Mundane

I'm far too tired to write a proper blog post. So, instead, here is a list of things that happened to me today. Some of them will explain why I'm too tired to write a proper blog post, and some of them will not. Enjoy!

1. Charlotte slept for ten hours before wanting a diaper change and to nurse, then slept for two more hours! I realize this isn't the best way to evoke your sympathy, but hear me out. While Charlotte may have had an awesome night's sleep, I did not. I had a terrific headache that lasted all through the night, plus my bladder is a wimp, PLUS I made the mistake of checking my Blackberry during my 3 A.M. potty wakeup, got a confrontational response to a blog comment I posted, and began to compose my rebuttal in my head. None of these are conducive to an awesome night's sleep for me.

2. I took Lotte to the mall (Have I ever called Charlotte "Lotte" here before? It's my preferred nickname for her because it reminds me of Victorian England.)Anyway, I took her to the mall for some shoes and for a little play time at the indoor playground since it's too effing hot for the park these days. We walked by a cart with a pushy salesman who practically dragged me to his chair so he could straighten my hair with an overpriced ceramic device and then try to sell it to me. I fancy myself pretty socially capable, but this guy made me SO uncomfortable. Between his close-talking (Seinfeld, anyone?) and his insincere flattery, not to mention the all too obvious sales lies: "This sale will only last a few more days! I'm the manager, and I don't usually give this deal to anyone. I'm gonna throw in this $50 hair spray!", I was a little disgusted with him. I know it's their job, and they need to make a living like anyone else, but GAH! I just hate when people compliment me when I know they don't mean it. It puts me in this really awkward position of having to be gracious, but not wanting to look like a fool by pretending I believe them. I...I don't know.

3. I completely destroyed my kitchen making ratatouille, what with all the peeling and seeding tomatoes, vegetable chopping, and olive oil splattering. Plus, I had to ignore my child while I was doing it, which has been one of the ways in which I'm struggling with cooking so much from scratch. I get really jealous hearing all the laughter coming from Chris and Charlotte as they play while I'm in the kitchen. I know I'm being a big baby. It's never more than an hour a day, tops, but it helps if you're pleased with the results of your labor. And today's ratatouille? Not so much.

Unlike this endeavor. THIS was worth every second.


4. I ran downstairs to throw some clothes in the dryer, and to my surprise and delight, Charlotte wanted to come with me, even though she was busy playing with her daddy. While I went about my business, Charlotte admired and prodded at a bike I'm borrowing from my mom, which we're keeping in the laundry room till we make space in the garage.

Well, it fell on her. So, to sum up: I feel super guilty about ignoring her and not being the one making her laugh and squeal with delight. I get her back for one minute, and she gets injured and is screaming. Faantastic. She was fine, just a scratch on her arm, but...still.

5. Right before Chris left for work I was bombarded with a return of the headache from hell, in addition to a cranky toddler from roughly the same region of hell. She was screaming, throwing tantrums, throwing OBJECTS, the works. Then, when we'd gotten her calmed down and Chris left for the night, she gave me the ol' bedtime fake-out. This is where we go through her whole bedtime routine of jammies, teeth, stories, and nursing, only to have her freak the hell out upon being placed in her crib, and we have to start over about twenty minutes later. The second go around almost always works, but man, is it rough getting anything done when I can't get her to sleep until almost nine.

Right before one of her trademark meltdowns

So, there you have it. The good, the bad, and the mundane.

On Why I've Been So Lame

I tend to avoid writing about my life in a "So, here's what's going on with me, lately" kind of way. Mostly, because my life isn't very interesting. But, I need to put this out there because I don't want the few people who read this blog to give up on me due to its sparsely updated...ness.

I didn't update last weekend because we went to Sea World, and I was all geared up to write about the perils and pitfalls we encountered travelling with a tiny toddler. But, I returned from my trip to a situation that required my immediate attention and all my time and energy, so that never happened.

So, on that matter, I will only say this: those of you with the kids I see in malls, amusement parks, and the like, sleeping in their strollers? Those of you that don't have to sit around your hotel for hours while the rest of your party is chilling with Shamu, so your baby can nap, so she won't be a total jerk all day? I hate you guys.

Seriously! Who ARE these kids that just go, "You know what? I'm feeling a little sleepy. I think I'll just recline in this here stroller and check out for a little while." And more importantly, why can't MY kid be like that? She will be falling all over herself, drunk-ass tired, but the second I recline her in the stroller, she's like "I'm up! See? I'm bouncing, I'm kicking, I'm FINE. Put my seat back up."

So, yeah. There was a lot of 5 A.M waking, hotel napping, Sea World missing, fun. But, there was also swimming in the hotel pool, Shamu gazing, and lots of good times.

But, I digress. What's going on is that we currently live about an hour and a half from Chris's work, and after six years of commuting, he's pretty much done. So, we've been wanting to move about 45 minutes closer, to an area that we can (sort of) afford. Trouble is, we bought our house when the market was booming, and we are crazy upside down, like heads-buried-in-the-ground upside down, so selling is out of the question.

Long story short, due to a renter falling into our laps, we're renting the place out and moving.

In three weeks.

Yeah, last week seemed hellish because we were scrambling to get the house ready to show to our tenant (weird to say). Now that she's agreed, we want to accommodate her as much as possible because she's like a dream as far as tenants go, so we need to find a place and be out by the last weekend of June.

So, I know this is all very tedious and we'd both rather I was writing about how Charlotte threw a toothbrush at my eye the other day, but this is just to let you know why posting has been light, and will continue to be light these next few weeks. I'm sure I'll find time to get on here and bitch about how much I hate moving, and oh how I HATE moving. But, I know I won't have as much time as I would like to really write the way I love to do.

So, keep your fingers crossed that we find a place to live, so that we don't have to move in with my mom or in-laws, and that I don't go totally insane trying to pack and downsize all the crap we've accumulated in the past six years.

I don't have a good feeling about this...

Bad Baby: The Sequel!

Since I'm fresh off the discipline post, I thought I'd give you all an inside look at what kind of brattiness we are up against these days.

Let me preface this by saying that unless Chris sees any of this behavior with his own eyes, he is convinced I'm lying. Or exaggerating. Or mistaken. And, even when he does witness a transgression, he never thinks she means it, never sees any malice. This isn't due to "not MY child" syndrome; he just think Charlotte's too young to be testing her limits. Let's all tell him how wrong he is, shall we?

When our niece, Athena, was three, we were watching her and her sisters at our house. Chris had left the three of them in the other room for a minute to come tell me something when we heard the one-year-old baby start wailing. We ran in there to find her holding her face and immediately looked at Athena. As she began her story about how the baby "fell and hit her face on the wall. Yeah, that's it! The wall!", our eldest niece, Mikala, was pretty much like, "Yeah, I'm gonna have to stop you right there, seeing as you SLAPPED her."

And Chris couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. It was like telling a kid that Santa isn't real or that their favorite basketball star is a rapist (What? That's totally appropriate for kids.) He was crushed. "But, she's so little! She can lie already?" I hated to have to tell him that kids are pretty much BORN lying.

So, Chris thinks it's a coincidence, and not precociousness when Charlotte waits to make sure I'm looking before doing something I've just told her not to do. Like when I've pulled a knick-knack out of her hand at my grandma's house, said "Don't touch", and then she waits a few minutes, walks over to the forbidden item, pauses to make sure I'm looking, SMILES, and then reaches for it. I tell Chris about it, prefacing the story with, "Man, Charlotte is such a butt...", and he cries "No, no! Surely not. She's not that advanced." Um, advanced enough to be a butt. Looking...shifty

She's also a showoff. Yesterday, we were visiting my grandma and her house guest. Charlotte threw her sippy cup, and, as always, I asked her to pick it up. Normally, she will comply with little to no coaxing, but now that there was a new person watching, she decided to draw the process out as long as possible. She was like, "Maaaaybe I don't wanna pick it up. How about I just push it with my foot? Maybe I'll just lie here on the ground for a minute first." It was so unexpected and so hilarious, it was hard not to laugh through my stern admonitions. In the end, I "helped" her pick it up by holding her directly over it. Not a total win, but she's one, you know? And, at least she picked it up.

I joke about her being a brat, but really I know she's just a normal toddler, seeing what she can get away with. And she's also very sweet. She gives me kisses, sometimes when I request them, and some are impromptu. She seems to be aware of the power of her kisses. She knows how much I love them, which, I can only assume, is why she has hit me in the face, only to quickly try and distract me with a kiss before I have a chance to admonish her. It only kind of works. See? Sweet!

She also shares, though, usually only when she wants to and on her terms. Though, she did steal a muffin from a two-year-old at the coffee shop last week, so that sort of negates any sharing she's done recently.

There are days (like today) where she is pushing my buttons all day: screaming at me in the fabric store because I'm carrying her and not letting her pull all the spools of ribbon off the shelves, pushing my hand away when I try to help her color, and whining for the entire car ride home. Those days, I put her to bed, breathe a huge sigh of relief, and pour myself a glass of wine. Okay, so I do that every night, but some days I do it with more zeal than others.

Then sometimes (tonight) she'll wake up screaming a few hours after bedtime, and when I pick her up to comfort her, she opens her heavy eyes, pulls the binky out of her mouth, smiles, and softly says, "Hi".

And, I seriously forget about all the times she bugged the hell out of me throughout the day. I suppose that's her diabolical plan.

She's GOOD, that one.
And here she is playing with chalk. Why? Because it's cute. And holy crap, I have a TODDLER.

A Teething, Tyrannical, Toddler

When I decided to take a hiatus from school, I had many a grand dream about how I was going to kick my writing career into high gear, start busting my ass (literally) at the gym, and still have lots of time left over for play dates.

Well, all I can say, is reality served me up a nice big can of whoop ass.

I don't know what it is exactly that has prevented me from updating the blog on a more regular basis or why I'm not feverishly writing my book proposal. I have to admit that I'm lazy. That's a fact, one which anyone who knows me will attest to, and that without question, is impeding my progress. But, it's more than that.

It turns out, toddlers are a LOT of work. WHO KNEW? Oh, you did? Well, whatever, smarty pants. I'm not talking to you.

When I began my last quarter of school and work at the tutoring center, I had a 9 month old. She was crawling, but there was only so much she could get into, and she was eating mostly purees. Babies are always a handful, but she was manageable. During those months that Chris and I were equally sharing the baby wrangling duties, a shift was occurring, imperceptible to us at the time.

And so it came to pass that when I resumed primary responsibility for the care and well-being of Charlotte at the end of the quarter, I was greeted not with my sort-of mobile, Gerber-slurping, happy little baby, but a full-on toddler, complete with personality, tantrums, and breakneck mobility.

Don't get me wrong, I am really having more fun than ever before. Her ever-expanding vocabulary is hilarious and awe-inspiring (and maybe some other hyphenated words, too!). And now that she can genuinely show affection with her spontaneous and very pronounced kisses, and now that she can call for me, I am a junkie for her love. What I won't do for just one more stroke of my arm with her tiny hand!

But, holy hell, if it isn't demanding! Every night upon leaving her room at bedtime, I am assaulted by a sinkful of dishes, pots and pans, and a high chair adorned with congealed cheese, globs of yogurt, avocado smear, and the tiniest of broccoli particles. Ah, the simplicity of spooning pureed carrots into her gullet! Then it was as simple as recycling a jar and dabbing her mouth with a washcloth. Now, my kitchen looks as if I've just prepared a Thanksgiving feast. Every. Single. Night.

Then I come into the living room, where the brightly-colored plastic lives. Some of it can be crammed into her toy box, but then there are the cars, the musical table, the bouncing horse, the bouncy ball, all permanent fixtures in the decor. I tidy and arrange as best I can, before preparing my own dinner. Then I pour a glass of wine and spend a little time catching up on the internet. This is a nice, peaceful time. A perfect time to do some of that writing, but I am usually so wiped from all the cooking, feeding, cleaning, playing, driving, etc. that I don't always get around to it.

And then there are days like today. Days where the kid won't nap even though she's tired and falling all over herself. So, I throw a bunch of blankets and pillows on the floor, and we watch Sesame Street together. Days where she appears to be cutting a tooth (or forty) and cries inconsolably, periodically throughout the day. Days where she wants to be held only by Mommy (I'm as shocked as you) so she spends hours in the borrowed Ergo. Days where she wants you to read her Llama Llama Red Pajama for the tenth time, but then closes the book and whines right around the time Baby Llama is asking for a drink of water. Days where I am equal parts heartbroken for her and frustrated at her constant unhappiness.

Somehow I managed to compose this rant on a day like this. But, now it would probably behoove me to go to bed. Charlotte's slumber has already proven itself to be unstable, at best, so I should probably collect as many hours of sleep as I can.

But Can She Make a Dry Martini?

Charlotte's particular brand of independence is what I would call defective. I would like to exchange it. No, I do not have a receipt. THIS ISN'T WHAT I ORDERED!

Don't get me wrong. I love that she is so independent. In fact, I think my kid is pretty bad ass. She is brave; just today my mom and I took her to get her picture taken with the Easter bunny. I was worried that she would be scared of him, not want to sit in his lap, that I would have to bribe her with cookies or the whip cream from my overly-indulgent coffee drink. Instead, I watched with pride as she sauntered right up to him, climbed into his lap, and started chatting to him in her own special language. We even got a good picture out of her!

See?

At the playground, she loves the slides, and she wants to negotiate the ramps and stairs without my help (She is afraid of the swings though, which is lame). When I vacuum, she doesn't cower or cry; rather, she smiles and wants to investigate where the noise is coming from. Today she even followed me around, holding the cord for me. She's a big helper. Charlotte loves to shut drawers and cabinets for us, throw things in the trash, hand us the objects we ask for, and brush our hair, as well as her own. This is the stuff that makes me beam with adoration. But, there are also several downsides.

Sometimes she wants to assert her independence when it is just downright inconvenient. The other day, my friend and I took our kids to the park. Samantha is five, and though she adores Charlotte, she quickly gets frustrated by the baby's inability to play hide-and-go-seek with her and her propensity to put the toys Samantha packed for them to play with, directly into her mouth. So, when a couple of older boys started rolling down the hillside, Sammy was quick to ditch us for their company. This left my friend and I to entertain Charlotte. We wanted to keep her on the blanket with us so we could talk and catch up. But, Charlotte was more interested in walking over to another group of people, trying to chat them up. So, I had to go get her and bring her back. Then she wanted to go play with the big kids. But, they were playing with a ball. A ball that most likely would have clobbered the baby if she got to close to the game. So I had to go get her. We tried to make staying with us seem fun. Jami put up a valiant effort, but, alas, Charlotte could not be appeased. She very magnanimously uttered a few courtesy laughs at Jami's exuberant antics: putting the Polly Pocket on a green dog, making the dog fly, making the dog talk, putting it on her head, but soon enough, Charlotte was ambling across the grass, chasing after Samantha and the other kids. I mean, come on, Charlotte. A talking, green dog that flies? What more do you want? So, I spent the rest of the afternoon alternately chatting with my friend and collecting the baby from various locations.

And when you pick that kid up when she doesn't want to be held? Oh, man, you should hear the squawking. Yes, squawking. Like a bird. Like, a loud, obnoxious bird. And her whole body gets stiff as she attempts to maneuver her way out of your arms. The best part is that she does it in public! Like yesterday, at the coffee shop when she tried pulling candles and mugs off the display shelf. My mom and I took turns scooping her up and away from the forbidden fruit. Meanwhile, the other patrons of the coffee shop shoved biscotti into their ears to block the horrendous squawking. Why not just lead her away from the breakables, instead of picking her up? Because that's when she throws herself onto the floor and cries, a la tantrum! I'm telling you, this girl is a piece of work.

For our next course we have "I can do it myself" followed by a little "If you try to take that spoon away from me, I will cut you" (With a knife. Which we totally let her have). Charlotte likes to feed herself. I wrote about it once before when she was first starting on solids. She liked to hold the spoon herself and put it into her mouth early on. But, now the mealtime shenanigans are on quite another level. She eats very little pureed food these days, which means most of the time, she is deftly shoveling tofu, peas, or avocado into her own mouth at an alarming pace. But, hey, it works for me. I can clean the kitchen while she chows down. UNFORTUNATELY, there is the matter of her very favorite food ever, and that, sadly, is yogurt. When I pull a container out of the fridge, she starts grabbing and bouncing and chattering like a monkey about to be given a banana. It starts out with her wanting to hold the container, while I dip the spoon in and feed her. Then she squeezes the container, and yogurt gets all over her hands. At which point she begins to SUCK the yogurt off her hands, making a slurping noise that almost makes the squawking bearable. I said almost. Then, my worst nightmare is actualized, as she decides it's time for her to hold the spoon. This wouldn't be so bad except that she is a baby. A baby with very under-developed motor skills. A baby with little coordination who sometimes falls down when she laughs. She can't actually get the contents of her snack onto her spoon. So, in a last-ditch effort to feed herself without my help, she DRINKS the yogurt. I laugh and laugh because it is adorable and funny and then I realize that FUCK! I have to clean this off of her. I figure it's not kosher to just dump a bucket of water over her head, so I begin the arduous process of wiping her down with a warm washcloth. Lots of batting away of the hands.

More squawking.

I know, I know. This is all par for the course with a toddler. And, honestly, this isn't what really bothers me. The (pathetic) fact is that sometimes her independence makes me sad. I feel like I spent her first few months on this planet sleep-deprived, and wishing I could lay her down for five minutes without her waking up and screaming. I was stifled by her neediness. And now I can scarcely get her to slow down for a drive-by hug or to let me hold her for more than a few minutes. I tried to listen when everyone told me to relish the days when all she needed was me, because those days were numbered. They were certainly right. I remember those words ringing in my head when she took nap after nap on my shoulder, her sweaty head sticking to my skin. I'd be hungry, hot, need to go to the bathroom. Everyone would tell me to PUT THAT BABY DOWN. But, I wouldn't. I remember marveling at the fact that Charlotte "tricked me" into cosleeping It was something I had never planned on doing. Chris and I would complain about the kicks to the head, the snoring, the tossing and turning. But, secretly, I loved it. No matter what kind of day we'd had, there was my sweet little girl (while she slept, at least), snuggling up to me, her hands on my face. I was a little relieved, but mostly heartbroken, when she wouldn't sleep anymore, and we had to move her to her crib. I forced the issue long past its expiration date, bringing her to bed when she wouldn't sleep, thinking "This time it'll work!", only to be thwarted yet again. I'd like to think I savored every minute of her neediness, but in my heart I know there were times that I wanted her out of my bed, off my boob, and maybe even in a different time zone. I don't know if that could have been helped. But, I do know that I miss those days, in a way. Even though where we are now, and where we are headed is so much more exciting.

Ah, simplicity!

I suppose all I can do now is continue to marvel at her powerful, little spirit. And enjoy every minute that she allows me to hold her, smelling her hair, feeling the weight of her on my chest as we watch Sesame Street in the morning (one of the only times she cuddles with me), watching her drift off at her 4 A.M. feeding, and even the cumbersome bulk of her on my hip when I am trying to cook dinner and NOW she wants to be held. I know these days are numbered, as well. Sigh!

See ya!