To Annie: this is how you spent the day you turned 14 months old.
You wake up with a little cry at 7:30. I come in and scoop you up. Instead of your usual first stop at the changing table, we head for our bed to say ‘good morning’ to Dad, who is waking up slowly after his 2:30am arrival from his latest week of work in California. After small snuggles and a few skeptical looks, we proceed with your change and head down for breakfast. As we descend, we wave hello to Aunt Camei and SuSu, here helping your poor pregnant mother manage her single-parent week.
You settle in for a breakfast of yogurt with peanut butter and mashed banana. Dad joins us and admires the new skills and maturity you’ve developed in his absence. SuSu and Aunt Camei distract you from your meal with their smiles and attention. I’m afraid sharing the spotlight in a couple of months really will be a rude shock for you.
You romp around the living room a bit; then we grease you up with sunscreen in preparation for SPLASH DAY at daycare. During playground time, you shall splash. We are taking a towel, an old t-shirt, and a package of swim diapers in preparation for this major new event. You get dressed; I get dressed; and we load up in the car.
At 8:45, I drop you off at daycare. You started last week and reportedly love it although you still cry plaintively every time I hand you off to Ms. Shanna and Ms. Maricela. Today, two other girls are there already, wandering happily around the classroom in t-shirts, swim diapers, and water shoes. I suspect they may orchestrate Splash Days just because it’s so darn cute.
I understand you have a great day and enjoy the splashing in particular. I often wish for a spy camera to see what you get up to, but at least we get this report:
According to the schedule, you spend 9-10 splashing outside, 10-11 getting cleaned up, changed, and doing small group activities and “circle time,” during which you discuss with your peers important matters such as shapes and colors. Lunch is served at 11; today it’s chicken patties, whole wheat bread, cucumbers, and mandarin orange. You eat everything, and drink milk.
You nap on a mat in your own little corner, on a sheet and in a sleep sack with your name written on them in sharpie. After a snack of tortilla and cheese (two of your favorites), Charly picks you up and brings you home. You play with her and Dad for an hour or so, mostly romping on your own around the house, carrying things from place to place, and narrating your actions with a constant stream of babble. You find Sous’ tennis ball and throw it for her. You swat her in the face, and when Dad tells you that’s not nice, you give her a tender MMMMMAH kiss on her back.
Charly takes you to the hot playground around 5, and you come home 45 minutes later red and sweaty, your fine baby hair all stuck to your scalp. We sit down for a dinner of random leftovers, and you enjoy a second night of beef stew with noodles and the cherry tomatoes out of my salad. Your lightening-fast mood changes signal how tired you are.
Dad takes you upstairs for a quick bath, paying particular attention to your ears, into which you have rubbed stew. You come back down, clean and diapered, and stagger sleepily around the living room for another 10 minutes. At 6:45 it’s back upstairs with Dad for bedtime. Until tomorrow, Tiny One!