I’d just like to note and celebrate that both (all) of our children sleep through the night, in the same room. We’re exiting the crazy little-baby years. A moment to appreciate the progress before we’re swept up in the next round of challenges.
Not only does she clean the floor of edible debris discarded by babies, Sous motivates us to clear the dinner table as soon as we leave it. Because if we don’t, she will eat: the leftover food off our plates, the rest of the pizza out of the box, the little cup of grated parmesan, and some cardboard.
Thanks, Sous! :D
When the kids leave for daycare now, the house is empty. If you are not taking them there, you are alone in it. Your own home, quiet, and all to yourself.
Paul whined when I got up from the breakfast table, but Annie jumped in: “Missa Paul! Mom right back.”
She talks now, that one. Also, shows empathy.
“Oh, Annie’s evil. She’s evil to the core.” Said Dad, proudly.
Annie is happy to see her dad and I in the morning, but REALLY happy to see Paul. We usually set him down in her crib or just outside, and they screech and smile at each other, and Annie hugs his neck and says adorable things like “Hey-o Missa Paul guh MORning!” It’s the best.
The water dispenser in our refrigerator has been broken for a couple of weeks, defying home remedies. Yesterday Bryan paid a certified GE repairman $137 to poke ineffectually at it and conclude, “I guess you outta buy a new refrigerator.” Then repairguy left, and Bryan fixed it himself. I love this man.
At dinner, a certain look comes over Annie’s face.
Bryan: “Annie, are you pooping?”
Bryan: “Annie, are you pooping? It’s okay if you are.”
Annie: “I pooping yasssss.”
She repeated this half a dozen times when she figured out it made me laugh. It was almost a letdown to discover that she had not, in fact, pooped.
I heard Annie say my name yesterday for the first time. We were in the car; someone called; and I talked on the speakerphone while Annie chirped in the background. At the end, my fellow caller said, “Bye, Leslie.” Annie, little parrot, echoed, “Bye-bye Yesyee.”
Previously placid Paul has become quite the rowdy fellow. Even during nursing, which used to be a cuddled-up dream state, he has taken to heaving himself around, preferring to eat on his hands and knees, like a piglet grubbing around the forest floor. Both of us connect with our animal natures. I find myself relating to the mother mammal on a nature show, blinking stoically while her young growl and scramble over her teats.