Dear Lucy,

From here on in, you will need more than one finger to show how old you are, for this morning at 4:15 you turned 2.

You are at such an exciting stage with your vocabulary right now — so much that your Uncle Marky said this weekend you knew more words than a week ago. This morning you said, “Mum-Mum get doggie please?” Dude, that’s FOUR words strung together! You say “doggie kibbeh” and get Spencer’s food out for him. You ask for help when a toy or puzzle or clothes item is stumping you. You show us where things are, with a “right there” or “Daddy get it?”

Sometimes you mumble in a struggle to tell us something, tripping over words you don’t quite know how to say before blurting out the right one. Yesterday I asked you where you went with Daddy, and you said, “Um, shurbbbb…TOYS! BOX! CAR! BRUMM-BRUMM!” Translation: Daddy took you to a hobby store (in the car) and you saw toys in boxes.

I love being the one that can understand you the most. I love when I pick you up from daycare or Nana’s and they quiz me on words you are quite insistent about. That marks me as your mom, you know, and makes me feel terribly important. Even though you inch further and further towards independence each day, I still speak for you, sweet girl.

If I am sitting at the computer or stealing an extra few moments of sleep, you now come over and pull my hand. “Mum-Mum, up!” or “Mum-Mum, play!” or “Mum-Mum, read Sue-cee?” Oh, how charming this is. I correct you and make you say please, but really, inside, I’m so proud. You are using words! To get what you want! It also grounds me and reminds me to walk away from work or the warmth of the bed, because there will always be time for that. There won’t always be 2-year-old you who wants me to get up and play and read.

You still eat everything except potatoes and carrots, and feed yourself. When you’re full, you’ve taken to looking right at us, slowly picking up food and lighteningquickfastninja throwing it in the air. It’s a good thing we have Spencer Dog. He, of course, loves you for this. We’ve also given up your nightime bottle, and instead you read books.

Your favourite toys include all of them. You love playing kitchen (you call the knife “cut) and saying “num-num-num” while pretending to eat food. You do the same with your stuffed animals or babies when feeding them. You love puzzles and Little People and Weebles and magnets and stickers and crayons and chalk. You love to dictate names of people to us and watch us write them and have us trace your hand. You LOVE Elmo movies and will sit for an entire 45 minutes learning about hands and feet and ears. It’s fascinating to watch you watch and remember what happens next, and go pick up your other movies when they appear in the previews — that one blows us away.

Do you know you have a food sticker obsession? One time in the grocery store I peeled a banana sticker (”nana stick-hear”) off a peel and stuck it on your coat. Now you ask to go to the grocery store so we can play fruit and veggie stickers. You leave the store looking like the United Nations of fruits and veggie adhesiveness: Apples and pears and kiwis and peppers and squash. Good thing I do not have to pay for you, cause you’d ring up quite expensive.

But I tell you: It’s like you have an internal clock that knows 2 goes along with temper tantrums. I’m not kidding, as these just started about a 1.5 weeks ago, these dramatic throws-to-the-floor-crying-and-feet-stomping. When your meltdowns are serious, we ignore you completely, and usually you just…stop and come over to us and we talk about what the deal is, for goodness sake that was unnecessary! Last night, when you started flailing around for some issue so insignificant I don’t even remember what it was, I leaned across to your Daddy and put my head on his chest, stifling laughter, because seriously: Lucy, you look quite silly all screeching like a banshee. You actually sat up and rolled on my back, continuing your (fake) crying and (fake) whining in a vain attempt to get me to pay attention to you.

And this, my sweet boundary pusher, is what makes this stage so ridiculous. You know you are being an idiot. You know you are being a drama queen. Sometimes I even get down on the floor and (fake) cry with you, and you burst into uncontrollable giggles because you know.

Jerk.

A wise favourite friend of mine said in an email the other day, “It is a good thing that the cuteness factor increases at this age. This is how they survive the next couple of years.”

Oh, how very true.

Happy birthday, my sweet Lucy Goosey. Your Mum-Mum and Daddy and everyone who knows you love you. You have taught me to never doubt the heart’s capacity to love more, even when you think it’s full.

Love Mum-Mum

p.s. — Goose, here’s something you can make fun of me for after I show your first date the photo of your nekkid arse sticking out of Spencer’s dog kennel: Up until 3 p.m. today, on the Our story page of this site, I had your birthday down as Feb. 26. I hang my head in shame and admit I gave that same date when I got your library card. But I assure you: While my brain may forget the date, other parts of my anatomy never will.

Dear Lucy,

This morning you repeatedly pushed the button on your Christmas globe (making the music play over and over and OVER), then grabbed your new stuffed Dora doll and danced around the living room with a delighted grin on your face.

This little routine completely encompasses 1 3/4+ years or 22 months to me: You love doing things yourself. You love creating. And you love repeating.

You have associated car rides with kid’s music, so as soon as we put the car in gear you pipe up from the back seat: “Dance? Dance? Mum-Mum, dance?” When a song is finished — particularly If You’re Happy and You Know It — we hear “Again?” from the back seat. To prevent your father and I from going completely bat shit crazy after six rounds of Itsy Bitsy Spider sung by nauseatingly happy fake Little People, we’ve instituted the Three Again policy: 3 listens to one song, then we move on to the next one.

And we know that you know exactly what this means, because as soon as we’ve warned you this will be the last time and the song is ending, you give out this fake boo-hoo cry.

Read the rest of this entry »

Dear Lucy,

I must have been perpetually dozing the past year and a half, mouth hanging open the way your father loves, because I woke up this morning and realized you turned 18 months old overnight.

My Goosey, you are constantly moving, poking, dancing, playing and exploring. It is no wonder you out-eat me almost every single day, because you never ever sit still. The past month you have spent refining your running skills, and even though it’s often just your still-chubby legs pumping very fast in one spot while your body aches to catch up, mygoodness you move fast. I believe we all burn calories by osmosis just watching you.

I don’t know how old I was, but one time I stuck a twist tie in a light socket and got a horrible shock (I distinctly remember your Grandpa taking me out to get ketchup chips after to make me feel better). One part of me is waiting for you to do this, as you are absolutely entranced with anything that challenges your fine motor skills: snapping together buckles — which you do after every single stint in your booster seat — doing puzzles, unhooking latches, dropping barrettes/flashlights/bookmarks behind doors with an “Uh-oh!” and a grin. You put books in and out of cases, squeeze plastic bath toys to make them squirt, clap together the paws of your stuffed animals.

Saturday afternoon you discovered an ancient radio I keep in our bathroom, and in less than two minutes you figured out how to open and close the tape deck. You are always so proud of yourself when you accomplish things, turning to us with a triumphant smile, clapping hands and saying “Eeeeeee!” in a mimic of our near constant “Yay, Lucyyyyyyy!” since every day you do something new.

You know dozens of signs, including egg, cracker, cookie, more and movie. It’s fascinating to see you switch between speaking with your hands and your mouth — it’s all communication to you. Your spoken vocabulary is too varied to list, but in an almost sentence, you love to yell “Mum-mum-mum AHHLLL-DUN!” while pointing at my empty plate. Intermingled with actual words are your Lucy-isms: “Plllephh” with your tongue while pointing at your blanket, the same noise for “washed the spider out” and “tee-toh-toh” for our house and your stroller.

You have also learned Yep (”Nep” with a nod), which you say quietly and seriously. It almost makes my eyeballs cross watching your adorableness.

And this month you started saying a very important word: bum. If your diaper is wet, you say bum. After you poop, you say bum. You also say it after waking up from a nap, when anyone even glances at the bathroom and when you see your potty. You are starting to enjoy sitting on it. Yesterday you shoved your tiny stuffed raccoon, Bandit, into the bowl then sat on him. When you’re in the bathroom with me, you pull off toilet paper and stuff it between my legs.

Potty Training 101 is a family affair at Chez McDougall-Foster.

I believe one of your Uncle Marky’s chromosomes has seeped into you, because you dislike potatoes just like he does — and it’s the only food I’ve found you will not eat. You love to dip-dip-dip chicken and grilled cheese into barbeque sauce and ketchup, just like me. Your quest to master utensils continues each day, and I will continue to launder multiple outfits a day as you do so.

We have our own special language, you and I. I can cross my arms over my chest, turn my head and look at you sideways and create insta-giggles. I also moonlight as The Snuffle Monster, a snorting beast who attacks your neck and your ticklish sides. There is nothing, absolutely nothing better in the world than hearing you laugh.

I left you and your Daddy alone one day, and when I came home he’d taught you how to bonk heads. He can also take credit for “I dunno!” which sends you shrugging your shoulders and smiling with your head cocked. I’m a little nervous for when I go to PEI on business in a few weeks…

Your other favourite activities include throwing objects in your pool, “watering” my flowers, sitting on the countertop as I prepare food, rolling around on the floor, fetching objects we ask you to, dancing, making your stuffed animals dance, reading and anything and everything to do with Elmo.

It’s so rare that you stop moving long enough for me to hold you, but when you do — like in the middle of the night when you’re scared or if there are strangers around — I squeeze and snuggle and nuzzle and sniff and kiss you non-stop. The memories of your early days are already fuzzy, and I worry if I don’t fill my senses with you now, these will fade, too.

So I continue to see a moment and snap my eyes closed like a shutter, in an attempt to burn you onto the Lucy hard drive in my brain.

Love you, my sweet baby girl.

Dear Lucy,

At 4:15 a.m. today you turned 16 months old. I was going to wait until you turned a year and a half before writing another update, but you are changing so fast I worry we’ll forget all your cute n’ odd mannerisms. I want a record of just how exciting and hilarious and exacerbating you are.

I think exacerbating is a perfect word for this age. You are a perpetual PMSing little fart that delights and annoys me every single day. I don’t know if I’ve ever known someone who has made me so happy and so frustrated in such quick succession. I feel like a walking mood ring.

But at the rate you’re growing and learning, you must feel exactly the same way. Each day brings a new word or skill. We play my favourite game on the way home from daycare. I ask, “Lucy, can you go sniffy-sniff?” You scrunch up your nose and snort. “Lucy, can you say apple?” Ap-awl, with your hand flapping at your ear for the the corresponding sign. “Can you say Mummy? Daddy? Spencer?” Mum-mum-mum-dad-dad-dad-gog-gog-gog. “Lucy, I love you!” You twist your little fingers in a wave for the sign. And then blow kisses. So many neverending kisses.

You can perform simple tasks such as picking things up, down, ta to us, being gentle. When we realized that “no!” was not working, we switched to getting down to your level and just talking to you. What a difference. You seem to understand when we say something is dangerous, when hitting or biting hurts or that yes, you do need to wear clothes today.

Of course, then you’ll go over and dump Spencer’s water bowl for the fourth time in a row and I’ll beg to regress back to when you were two months old and I’ll I had to do to make you happy was shove a boob in your mouth.

You love colouring (ca-wur). In remarkably un-toddler-like fashion, you will sit for a good half an hour on our laps reading books. But only familiar books. Ones you don’t know or for whatever reason don’t like are tossed over your shoulder like garbage as you rummage in your book basket with your chubby butt in the air.

Last week you stunned me by learning how to spin while watching your favourite movie, Baby Einstein’s First Moves. And the look of joy on your face as you made that full rotation! I will never forget it. On movies: when I ask if you want to watch one (a big treat), you giddily make the movie sign, then run and plop in front of the TV. We always end up sitting together, though. For some reason you get scared of the blue octopus puppet, mostly when he’s waving his tentacles around. As much as I hate that you’re frightened, it makes me feel so good that you turn to me for comfort. I must be doing something right.

You are strong willed and independent. You fight diaper changes and getting dressed and being in the stroller — all things that prevent you from doing things yourself. I find these times especially hard. Many have left me exhausted and crying.

You eat everything. I’m not kidding. Every texture, flavour, hot, cold — even spicy. You usually make the “all done” sign when you’re full, but just as often go “Mmm-nah-nah-nah” and push food out of your mouth. I’ve always wondered what chewed up shepherd’s pie looks like, thanks. Yesterday we shared dried fruit strips and after each bite you ran over to the mirror and looked at the food in your mouth, jabbing out your tongue. Then you turned to me smugly. This must be something your Grandpa taught you…

You’ve finally mastered taking bites of food (because your teeth came in so early, it took a long time to teach you this), and I can now keep you happy with a cracker while getting dinner ready instead of you insistently tying to get picked up. You love milk (just like Mummy) and get it and water in sippy cups.

At night you still get a cherished bottle before bed. Your Daddy loves it when I pass the warm liquid to you over the baby gate, and you toddle into your bedroom holding it out to him. After we say goodnight to all your bunnies, you sleep for 12 hours: 7 p.m. to 7 a.m.

Every morning you greet us with GIANT smiles and blowing kisses (I can hear you from our room: “Mmmmmm-uh!”) You recently learned how to jump in your crib, so you do that, too. I hear you call my name as Daddy changes your diaper, and my belly contracts and flutters in excitement for the moment he brings you to me. You’re soft and warm and grinning, and slide into my arms with a hug.

And then you are off the bed with a “dun-dun-dun”, go-go-go-ing, doing puzzles and playing Little People, and carrying Boo-Boo around with an “awwwwww!” and lifting the toilet lid and pushing computer buttons and and and.

My busy little fart. My little girl. Oh how I love you.

Since Lucy started full-on walking, I’ve noticed a distinct change in her personality.

She’s louder. More onery when she doesn’t get her way. More defiant. More busy. More impatient. More into things she shouldn’t be. Much, much more independent.

Her favourite word is “dun, dun, dun, dun” (down, down, down, down — strung together) so she can be moving already because being held is for suckers.

But she’s also absolutely hilarious. She brings me unusual objects, such as a sock or page ripped out of a book (*sigh*). She tosses things into Spencer’s kennel then opensandclosesandopensandcloses the door. She’s into foreshadowing by saying “nuh, nuh, nuh” and shaking her head before doing something naughty (ie: spastically attacking the blinds, poking the carbon monoxide detector, unravelling toilet paper). She laughs all the time, this Eddie Murphy-esque squwak in the back of her throat. Ask her to sniffy-sniff and she’ll scrunch up her nose and snort a flower.

She says hiya and hidare (hi there), bye, birdie, shuuus (shoes), mum-mum-mum-mah, da-da-da-dah, gog-gog-gog (dog), buh-buh (bunny) and ah-duh (all done). Also many Lucy Language words and dozens of signs (berries, banana, movie, egg).

Welcome, 15 Months. Little did I know how fun, funny and frustrating you would be.

• Part 2 of Angie’s touching story of her son, Alexander, is up today
• The doctor thinks Eric has an inner ear infection (he thinks because you can’t actually see the inner ear — Eric’s symptoms just point to it). So my hubby is banned from driving the next few days, in case he has a dizzying episode while behind the wheel, and is also on anti-vertigo pills. The whole thing is just weird…
• Have you entered the Ugly Baby Clothes Contest yet? What are you waiting for?! I’ve got prizes to give away, y’all!
• Don’t forget tomorrow is the Durham Parent Baby Show in Pickering. Lucy and I are checking it out in the morning.
• Lucy turns 14-months-old today, the age I have to say is the best so far. In honour of her 14 months on the planet, may I present My Lucy in 14 (15) Mostly Made-Up Words: kissy, lovey, walky, talky, laughy, acrobaty, crawly, charmy, squishy, moany, mumummy, eaty, pointy, throwy baby.

Lucy turned 13 months old today. She’s still a baby to me, but when do I start calling her a toddler? At age two? When she starts toddling around?

Each day she becomes smarter and more grown up. In the past two weeks alone she has started signing berries, cheese, eat, pear and all done. She is a beaming copy cat, and claps in joy when we realize she’s mastered something new.

Read the rest of this entry »

My Lucy,

It’s 9:58 a.m., and you’ve already received three e-cards and 4 5 6 emails wishing you Happy Birthday. If you’ve made this much of a sweet impression on Mummy’s friends, can you imagine how you’ve changed my and Daddy’s life this past year?

We laugh more. This month you’re all about waving. You wave at Spencer, you wave at invisible things outside, you wave at me when I leave the room. You need to work on your timing though, as your arm starts flapping after Daddy closes the door, or after you leave a party and we’re walking up the stairs.

We run more. You are everywhere now. You’re grabbing the dog bowls, climbing bookcases, scaling the dishwasher, tossing socks in the bathtub, carrying paper from room to room, inching up counters and desperately trying to see what’s up there.

Read the rest of this entry »

Dear Goosey,

This month you have changed more than any other, and each day you delight us in all you’ve learned.

You can now crawl. This morning you followed me from the office into the bathroom (it’s never too early to start you on potty training, I suppose). Early last week you were like a little deer, all wobbly-legged, but now you motor around the house. When you start to crawl, you turn your head to the side with a little smile, then throw your chubby hands to the floor with a slap before taking off — so proud. Your Daddy put up the baby gate this weekend, and one of your new favourite things to do is grab the bars and try to stand up.

Your new abilities to manipulate your body mean some (often funny) frustration for me. When you’re put down for a nap, you toss onto your belly, then inch your way backwards onto your bum. So here I find you, sitting happily in your crib throwing the blanket in the air when you’re supposed to be sleeping. When you hear me coming, you dive onto the crib giggling.

Sometimes you are so saucy.

You’ve said your first word: dog. Well, you can’t get the “D” down, so it comes out “Gog.” But we know what you mean. You snap your teeny fingers at the same time — the sign for dog — and do this whenever you see Spencer (I wish he appreciated this honour, but so far he only loves you for food droppings). I also think you’ve said “Dad” (”Gag”). This weekend you started on “M” so you’ve been babbling Mam-mam-mam and Mum-mum-mum. Maybe I’ll be next?

This month you’ve also learned the signs for milk and apple. We realize now that when we’ve been teaching you “more”, we would nod our head at the same time. So now when we ask if you want more, or you’re trying to tell us so, you sharply toss your head up and down and lean towards us.

You can also: dance (you sway your head side to side like Stevie Wonder), wave, find your baby toes, pretty hair and BooBoo the Bear, give high and low fives, find your freckle and bonk your head.

It may not be the most awe-inspiring skill you’ve learned, but it certainly is the funniest: you like to hide toys in your Daddy’s crotch. You’ll be playing Leggos and Weebles — your favourite Daddy games — and tuck pices in between his crossed legs. Sometimes you pull them out right away, others you leave in there for…safekeeping? Hiding from Spencer? To keep warm?

You love to dump out baskets of toys. You throw your Weebles across the hardwood floor and laugh as they spin and crash. You chase balls around. You’re obsessed with boxes.

But more than any other game or toy or song, you adore physical peek-a-boo. Either one of us holds  you in our arms and sneaks up on the other, or you’re on the floor and we peer at you from around the corner. You squeal and laugh and try to run away and hide.

I have learned so much about you lately. You are really starting to show your preferences (and your stubborness, which you SO inherited from your father *cough*ahem*) and voice your displeasure at things such as putting your coat on. This, apparently, is on par with being stabbed with hot knives.

Sometimes I think you fuss just for the sake of fussing, because you’ve learned how and want to test out what happens. Like when I change your diaper. As soon as you are laid down on the change pad, you start thrusting those little hips in the air and shaking your head back and forth while screeching.

I roll my eyes at you, and say, “Oh, Goosey! What are you doing? You’re being ridiculously silly.”

And then you start laughing. Like you know you are being an idiot, and know you can’t pull that crap with me.

How can you be so smart already?

We’ve been very adventurous with food with you, and you eat everything. I love that we can now bring you to a restaurant and you eat what we do. You’ve had coconut rice, mango chicken, pad Thai, bbq chicken, peameal bacon (Daddy was very pleased), every kind of bean, tons of pastas and veggies.

You have my eye colour. Your Daddy’s hairline at the front, and mine at the back. You kinda look like your Grandpa, and I think you look like me around your eyes and forehead, but you’re really your own little girl.

Little girl. Not so much a baby now. You will always be my baby, though.

As we fly through these last few weeks of your first year, I’m not sad that time has flown by. I’ve loved every single second of you — even the hard parts, once they’re over — and each day am so excited to see you learn and grow into you.

Love Mummy

1. You are SO into your toys now. You will sit and play for more than an hour, picking up toys and examining them, poking them, throwing them, tasting them. It’s interesting to watch you try and figure out how things work. The other day you were in your exercauser, leaned back with your feet hooked on a plastic post, holding a ring and twirling the little star on it. Your bottom lip was pouting out, an expression you often get while working intently on something. You like to push toys under or in things, then quickly grab them out. You LOVE to knock over towers of blocks.

2. You make a throaty “Heeeeeee!” when you see things you recognize or like: People, photos, the baby in the mirror, certain toys.

3. We ask you where your family is, and you look towards and sometimes point to our wall of photos.

4. When you’re on the floor with your hands in front, one leg in crawl position, it’s all we can do not to yank the other leg out and give you a gentle but firm push on the butt. You seem to really want to move, but are stuck in first gear. This doesn’t mean you can’t get around: you swing that leg in and out and rotate in and out of a sitting position until you’ve gotten where you want to go. And you are a pro reacher.

5. What you do love more than yogurt is reaching out for our fingers, pulling yourself into a standing position, and walking. We motor all over the house this way. It’s funny when you spot something interesting — such as a piece of dirt or fluff or Spencer hair — because you just let go and plop to the floor. Your Gramie got you a push car for Christmas, and I’m sure in a month you will be running behind it denting your father and I in the legs.

6. You clap for yourself when you’ve done something you’re proud of.

7. Other babies and children are especially fascinating to you lately (this makes me feel a little better about daycare). At your great aunt’s yesterday, you kept leaning around us trying to see your cousins, but they weren’t very interested in playing with you. Next year, though, you will be almost 2 and we can picture you right in there annoying them.

8. Nursing is a challenge now because you get so distracted by the world. It’s almost impossible to feed you in a room with other people or the TV on. You used to nurse yourself to sleep, but now you’re wide awake and drink from both sides, waving your hand in the air and hitting me in the face(this sounds funny out loud, but is REALLY frustrating). Even at night when I breastfeed you in a dark room, you pull off and cock your head to one side, listening, to every sound. Next week we are going to start you on whole milk and begin the slow weaning process over the next two months. I am going to miss our special times together.

9. Please stop trying to tear your bib off during meals. Seriously.

10. I can appreciate how small and helpless you used to be now that you are getting so big and doing so many things. You’re starting to really show us what you like (jumping waaaay up high againagainagainagain) and don’t (screaming when you see the washcloth to wipe your face). It’s getting hard to imagine what life was like before you came along — and we like it that way.

Happy 10 month birthday, Goosey!