Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
2012!
Dear Scarlett,
As you said to me several times today: Happy new year! Yours sounded more like "Happy! Yoo yee!" But I got the point. It is 2012, either the year that you turn 2 or the year that we experience the apocalypse. So that will be interesting.
We are still readjusting to California time after a trip to Florida to see your grandparents, who you have christened "Beba" and "Pa." We spent three days at their house in Port Charlotte and then we all went to a hotel in Naples with Uncle John and Aunt Jamie. It was not our most successful trip. You had an ear infection, and we didn't get it diagnosed until the 4th day of our trip, after many sleepless nights. Even after we got medication, you just wanted to sleep in our bed, and would wedge yourself between me and Dad in the most awkward position possible. I kept waking up just as I was about to fall onto the floor. But that was actually preferable to the hours that you laid awake, making me sing your new favorite song "Frosty the Snowman," over and over. I blame Beba and Pa's giant blow-up Frosty doll for this obsession. And just fyi, we don't sing that song in January. That is a December song.
Despite your health issues, it was great to be with Dad's family for the holidays. They absolutely doted on you. Beba and Pa refurbished an old rocking horse, hung a princess swing from a tree in their yard, and decorated a small red chair with the letters of your name. You loved swimming in their pool and jumped in twice when no one was there to catch you--although Dad was watching. The first time you leaped halfway across the pool and caught hold of a green float as if you were some kind of tiny, diapered James Bond character. The second time you just jumped into the water and sank. Dad reached over for you, but oh my god. It's a good thing that I was not there during either of these events or I probably would have hyperventilated.
Now we're home and I'm happy to report that you're feeling better. You talk all the time, and you are really speaking in sentences. These sentences mostly consist of your demands. Mommy, go get it. Daddy do it. Daddy read it. Mommy eat it. Mommy sing it. Mommy hair down! Upon rereading this, I realize I'm making it sound like you want us to do everything for you. This is only true when you are feeling lazy. All other times, you simply yell "SELF!" and push us out of the way.
It's so hard (but fun) to figure you out. Are you independent? Yes, I think so. But then you'll follow me around the house, demanding that we lie in my bed together so you can play with my hair. But first we need to get your water cup. And your stuffed moose. And three dolls. And your blanket. Ok, now we can lie down. Hey, the cats are here! Let's get up and put our runny noses directly onto their fur. Awesome.
2011 was a great year, the year of your first haircut (administered by yours truly, with kitchen scissors one very early morning when I was barely awake and could not handle one more second of your hair in your eyes.) It was the year you walked, the year you tried ice cream, the year you said "I love you." It was another year made better by your very existence. I can't wait to see what happens in 2012, and I'm mainly hoping it's the year you learn how to swim. Should be a good skill to have during an apocalypse.
Love,
Mom
As you said to me several times today: Happy new year! Yours sounded more like "Happy! Yoo yee!" But I got the point. It is 2012, either the year that you turn 2 or the year that we experience the apocalypse. So that will be interesting.
We are still readjusting to California time after a trip to Florida to see your grandparents, who you have christened "Beba" and "Pa." We spent three days at their house in Port Charlotte and then we all went to a hotel in Naples with Uncle John and Aunt Jamie. It was not our most successful trip. You had an ear infection, and we didn't get it diagnosed until the 4th day of our trip, after many sleepless nights. Even after we got medication, you just wanted to sleep in our bed, and would wedge yourself between me and Dad in the most awkward position possible. I kept waking up just as I was about to fall onto the floor. But that was actually preferable to the hours that you laid awake, making me sing your new favorite song "Frosty the Snowman," over and over. I blame Beba and Pa's giant blow-up Frosty doll for this obsession. And just fyi, we don't sing that song in January. That is a December song.
Despite your health issues, it was great to be with Dad's family for the holidays. They absolutely doted on you. Beba and Pa refurbished an old rocking horse, hung a princess swing from a tree in their yard, and decorated a small red chair with the letters of your name. You loved swimming in their pool and jumped in twice when no one was there to catch you--although Dad was watching. The first time you leaped halfway across the pool and caught hold of a green float as if you were some kind of tiny, diapered James Bond character. The second time you just jumped into the water and sank. Dad reached over for you, but oh my god. It's a good thing that I was not there during either of these events or I probably would have hyperventilated.
Now we're home and I'm happy to report that you're feeling better. You talk all the time, and you are really speaking in sentences. These sentences mostly consist of your demands. Mommy, go get it. Daddy do it. Daddy read it. Mommy eat it. Mommy sing it. Mommy hair down! Upon rereading this, I realize I'm making it sound like you want us to do everything for you. This is only true when you are feeling lazy. All other times, you simply yell "SELF!" and push us out of the way.
It's so hard (but fun) to figure you out. Are you independent? Yes, I think so. But then you'll follow me around the house, demanding that we lie in my bed together so you can play with my hair. But first we need to get your water cup. And your stuffed moose. And three dolls. And your blanket. Ok, now we can lie down. Hey, the cats are here! Let's get up and put our runny noses directly onto their fur. Awesome.
2011 was a great year, the year of your first haircut (administered by yours truly, with kitchen scissors one very early morning when I was barely awake and could not handle one more second of your hair in your eyes.) It was the year you walked, the year you tried ice cream, the year you said "I love you." It was another year made better by your very existence. I can't wait to see what happens in 2012, and I'm mainly hoping it's the year you learn how to swim. Should be a good skill to have during an apocalypse.
Love,
Mom
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