This weekend, Lucy discovered dolls. Specifically, she zoned in on my beloved Cabbage Patch Kid, Alexabell.
I can’t explain how surreal it was to spend half an hour sitting in my daughter’s room, my favourite childhood CPK clothes strewn around us, putting outfits on my once-favourite doll. It was a time warp, one that still leaves me sort of disjointed. I’m so thankful to my parents for saving my Kids, even if they were stored naked in a garbage bag for almost 20 years.
Lucy calls Alexabell — an admittedly hard word for a 2.5-year-old — Alexabot. Which just cracks Eric and I up, as it sounds like some sort of cyerborg/robot. We keep waiting for her to stand up and walk towards us with her arms swinging stiffly by her sides, mouth opening and closing like a nutcracker.
We spent another half hour Sunday putting every single “pretty” into Alexabell’s hair. She looked like a pimped-out Amish girl, what with her hair bling and prim dress.
Saturday I scored a Little Tikes stroller at a garage sale up the street for just 50 cents (!), and Sunday we took Alexabell for a walk. We’re thinking of nominating Lucy for Canada’s Worst Driver: Toddler Edition, as the child cannot walk in a straight line while pushing. While she was heart-attack-inducing cute with her ponytail and dress and light-up shoes and plastic beads and pure glee at her new toys, holymother was it tiring going 3 ft.-stuckonthegrass-3 ft.-stuckonthegrass, repeat alll the way down the sidewalk.
Which is why the weekend ended like this, with Eric earning yet another fatherhood stripe.
Anne of Green Gables rag doll (which Lucy carried all the way downtown for the 100 Years of Anne festival last Saturday) is most definitely grabbing one of the Girls. Bad, Annie!
So glad to look officialy pregnant, and not lumpy or like I’ve eaten too many bowls of Corn Pops (not that that’s happened *cough*)
Being the short-term thinker I am, I have yet to fully comprehend that in less than six months there are going to be two children living in my house.
I’m firmly, obliviously entrenched in pregnancy survival mode. It’s sort of nice living in this state of denial.
But the odd time I do let my mind wander into the near future, these are the random things I worry about:
learning to breastfeed again. My nipples cringe when I even look at nursing bras, remembering how utterly painful the first few weeks were
sleep. Or better yet, lack thereof. We have been so blessed with Lucy and so comfortable in our freedom from 7:30 p.m. - 7 a.m. that I know this baby is going to kick our asses when s/he arrives. This turns into near panic when I read posts like Mary Lynn’s — then hear it again from Eric (he works with ML’s husband) in the form of Ed’s red, blurry eyes
two children = four appendages each. Last I checked, despite wishes every night, I only have two hands *sigh*
baby crap gear clogging up the house. It’s so nice now having Lucy’s toys tucked away beside the sofa out of sight. I think back to the early baby months of swing, bouncy chair, receiving blankets, small trippable toe-stubbing toys and say bye-bye living room
oh, the screaming and crying around dinner time. Do you remember those?
Spencer becoming a hermit when he realizes, “ohdeargod there’s another one.”
Lucy’s reaction in general
But then this afternoon, at the grocery store? There was this frazzled-looking mom, hair in a sloppy pony tail, crusted spit-up down her back wearing mismatched socks, leaning into an infant seat and nibbling on the bare toes of her three-month-old to his gummy-mouthed delight, and I realized all the above doesn’t matter for moments like that one.
(Translation: Leave the parts lying around under Eric’s nose to force him to assemble it. If assembly requires more than two steps and a screwdriver, you do not want me near it. Flat boxes from Ikea make my heart palpitate…)
Lucy has picked up the word “awesome!” from daycare, and that’s all she could say even when the park was still in the box. We knew it was going to be a hit.
After hours and hours playing with it Saturday (with Auntie Jenni and Uncle Marky) and Sunday (and Monday and Tuesday when she was home from daycare because Julia was sick), she now wakes up asking if it’s a Waterpark Day. The boy and girl floaty things that came with it are the Mommy and Daddy, and love going down the chute in the sailboat — and promptly sink at the bottom.
It’s been a fabulous tool for us, as Lucy really enjoys playing with it on her own, which means we can do other chores (gardening, raking, cleaning out the garage) near her and she is completely satisfied. I love that about this age — 2+-age toddlers are starting to really play on their own, which I think is a very important skill. It certainly puts less pressure on us.
My only complaints about the park are that a) it did not include an umbrella as shown on the product page (we rig our patio one up leaning against the deck railing with some bricks to provide shade), b) it’s clunky battery operated with D batteries, and I have doubts how long they will last, c) it’s very heavy when filled with water, making it difficult — if not impossible — to move around once filled.
Aside from that, it’s just a great toy. We’re looking forward to a long summer enjoying it.
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.
We kept it small this year — just immediate family — unlike last year’s decorated, invitationed, large-attendee affair. Lucy did, however, get a new dress. A dress with buttons down the front that no one could predict would create a strip show and gut wrenching entertainment at the end of the night.
Lucy “Wow!”-ed over all her presents from our super generous families: money for her education fund, movies, tons of stickers and art supplies (including a handmade apron that holds crayons, from my sister), books (this one — best EVER — is now known as “Doggie Poops” because of the yellow lab that’s squatting; two more Little People flap books!; Dora and more), movies, adorable spring clothes, funds to paint Lucy’s bedroom
For dinner, I made chicken chili, served with fancy schmancy bread and old cheddar cheese (that yummy stuff that’s tart and makes your mouth feel dirty. Mmmmm). While I love entertaining, I have to admit I still have a lot to learn about portion. Everyone had food and was full, but there definitely could have been more.
(Note to self: MAKE MORE FOOD.)
Lucy spent dinner wanting more bread. She spent the time between dinner and dessert wanting cake. She ate her cake. Then she mashed it all over her tray and down the side of her chair. Typical toddler. I take it as a sign the food was good.
Did I mention I made carrot cake? With cream cheese icing? Do you know how much cream cheese icing I ate last Saturday?
After dinner, Lucy and her Auntie Jenni started dancing in the office. Before we knew it, my daughter was popping open the buttons on the front of her dress. Was she hot? Was she practicing (un)dressing skills? Was she EGGED ON BY FAMILY? Yes, yes and yes. Soon, she was leading us in a Benny Hill-inspired chase:
High on cake and all the attention, Lucy was soon screeching through the house clad only in tights and Robeez. The party could not have ended on a better note.
I am so far behind on, well, everything right now. But it’s all going to have to wait, because it’s my little girl’s birthday weekend!
Eric’s mom arrived just before lunch. Lucy spent the morning talking about the “big hugs” she was going to give her Gramie.
Tomorrow our immediate family is here for a little birthday dinner party. Lucy knows she’s turning 2, and is currently 1. She’s also well knowledged on cake. Actually, this morning she was licking the television screen when a cake came on.
The fingerprints of babyhood have been replaced by the lickprints of toddlerhood. Our poor television. (Just watch — Eric will use this as yet another reason for a wall-mounted, flat screen television.)
Lucy’s birthday celebrations continue next weekend when Jen O. and I have the Durham Mom’s Night Out ladies and their babies out for a joint Lucy-Eirinn play party. Can’t wait for that.
Hope you all have an excellent weekend. I am bursting with posts and will (need to!) get them out next week.
They do. Lucy’s Great Auntie Janice taught us this today.
We went to the west-end of Toronto this morning for a fun little visit with her and Great Uncle Jim (Eric’s aunt and uncle). After Lucy detached herself from me — seriously, I felt like I was pregnant again, except the baby was OUTSIDE AND DEATH GRIPPING ME — she ran all over the house playing with her second cousin (Uncle) Ted’s neat old toys, exclaiming over squirrels and eating her way through almost an entire bunch of grapes (thank goodness I’m not on diaper duty tomorrow. Stand guard, Nana!).
Lucy fell asleep two minutes after we left, clutching the new Little People Spring Is Here book her doting aunt and uncle bought her for her birthday. She wanted to bring it into her crib at naptime, but I refused. We compromised by leaning it up against her dresser so she could gaze at it lovingly between the bars. Might explain why she did not sleep…
We had a wonderful time. Thanks for having us over, Auntie Janice and Uncle Jim! We can’t wait to have you over here when the weather is nicer and we can enjoy the back deck. Also: IOU Devil Cookies.
I should start a collection of photos of the Mr. Potato Heads Lucy creates. She is such an artiste with them. My favourite came this evening when she gave him a set of eyes and six arms. It was actually rather creepy looking…
Are you good with playing with your child(ren)? Do you enjoy it? I don’t mean tossing toys at their noggins or setting them up with puzzles and turning your attention to Dr. Phil at 5 p.m. (*cough*). I mean the nitty-gritty-sprawled-on-the-floor-making-up-Little-People-voices-
playing-kitchen-pretending-to-be-a-horse playing.
I am horrible at playing. For whatever reason, I have no patience for it. My imagination may be wild when it comes to *ahem* secret fantasies and making up stories about our neighbours, but it sort of piddles out my ears when it comes to getting down to an almost 2-year-old level.
Eric rocks at this. He and Lucy will make up ridiculous stories about driving cows around the train station, and nose-diving dinosaur airplanes destroying Weebles, and building duck-eating monsters out of blocks. I have literally hurked tea up my nose laughing at the commentary he comes up with. He has no problem just playing for hours with her.
Lucy loves it. She goes to Daddy for playing and make believe.
I, on the other hand, excel at doing stuff with Lucy. We buy groceries or go to Tim Hortons for a tea n’ treat. We bake cookies. We do laundry. We paint or colour or sticker. We play outside (AKA: shovel the driveway). We garden. I like to teach her things through real experience. Playing makes me want to jab forks in my eyes after 0.3258 seconds.
Eric likes to…blow crap up with her. I am quite obviously just breeding to get more help around the house.
Are any of you like this? Not the blowing crap up or breeding (although kudos for that!), but find it difficult to do the playing thing? I definitely think boys are better at playing toys etc. I don’t think they ever grow out of that…
Carly: Mom to Lucy, 2.5 years, and Spencer Dog, 9-ish. Due with second daughter late October. Wife to Eric, an engineer. Journalist and entrepreneur. Recently moved to north Durham Region, to the greener pastures of our dreams.
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for her to stand up and walk towards us with her arms swinging stiffly by her sides, mouth opening and closing like a nutcracker.
Lucy for Canada’s Worst Driver: Toddler Edition, as the child cannot walk in a straight line while pushing. While she was heart-attack-inducing cute with her ponytail and dress and light-up shoes and plastic beads and pure glee at her new toys, holymother was it tiring going 3 ft.-stuckonthegrass-3 ft.-stuckonthegrass, repeat alll the way down the sidewalk.
