It's getting harder and harder to get Emma out of the door. She insists on saying bye bye to as many inanimate objects as possible as we walk out, and has to make eye contact with each of them. So the walk down the hallway can take five minutes while she says bye-bye to the chair,a pair of socks, the mirror, our sneakers, the wall, the door, the floorboards, any clothes that are hanging around, the letter box, the wall...you get the picture. It's a bit like "Goodnight Moon".
If there's anything with a face on it, it's even harder. She says bye bye, but then has to run through her "face vocab" - nose, eyes, ears, teeth, tongue, cheek, etc, sometimes several times. ("Yes, little one. It's STILL a nose. Just like it was the last 20 times you asked...")
And she has developed more emotional needs as well. At bed time a week ago, she suddenly decided it was extremely important to cuddle her bunny and pull her blanket up (both of which she had previously ignored). Then, last night, she wouldn't sleep until I had kissed the bunny goodnight on its nose as well as hers. She did make it easy for me to figure out, holding the bunny up to my face and saying "Mmmmwhhma pliz" until I kissed it.
Her vocab is exploding - new words every day, and she has the most wonderful giggle in the world. Neither talking nor giggling are things she'll do with a camera in her face, so we'll just have to enjoy the moment and not worry too much about capturing it for prosterity.
We are torn between wanting her to keep getting older so we can see what else she has in store for us, and wanting her to stay this age forever.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Puh-lease, Mum Part 2 (Anna)
There's a sock - adult size - on the bedroom floor, so she brings it up to me.
"Pliz", she says, frantically tapping her chest with the sign for please. She hands me the sock.
I take it.
"Hi," I say. "You've got a sock."
She looks at me expectantly, and says "pliz" a little louder.
"Shall I put it on?" I ask. "Shall I put the sock on my foot?" and I start to put the sock on my foot.
She grabs it off me and hands it to me again.
I take it.
"Pliz," she insists.
"Would you like me to put it on YOUR foot?" I ask and bend down to put the sock on HER foot.
She growls, like a little lion, and looks at me impatiently. She pulls the sock away from her foot and puts it in my hand.
"Pliz," she says, scowling.
I play peek-a-boo with it. I tickle her nose with it. I fly it around the room like a sick pigeon. I throw it on the floor. I throw it in the air. I throw it in the bath. All of this is wrong, and she is getting angrier and angrier at me. She has stopped asking nicely, resorting to a fingernail-on-chalkboard screech every time I get it wrong.
She grabs the sock and walks away. I didn't know that toddlers could huff. She turns her back on me in disgust.
Luckily, our daughter is patient and kind with slow learners, so she comes back a few moments later and generously gives me another chance.
"Pliz," she says, with a huge toothy grin, as if I have been deliberately holding out on her and she has to up the ante, laying on the cute factor. She is extremely cute and I'm not trying to teach her important world lessons abot the fact that she can't always get what she wants. I am genuinely baffled.
I tickle her belly with it, knowing that's not what she wants, but hoping beyond hope that it might work. I put the sock on my head and make a silly face. She laughs, but then gets back to business.
"Pliz," she says.
I put it on HER head.
And...she melts down. She cries. And cries. I am a terrible mother and have let her down in the worst possible way. She will never forgive me. She concedes to being cuddled, but cries all the way out the bedroom. All the way down the stairs. All the way along the hall. Her face is red, her eyes scrunched up. I can see her tonsils. It is the end of the world.
Eventually, she gets distracted by a little metal tin that she absolutely must explore. She wriggles out of my arms to go and play, and peace reigns again.
Later, I tell Caroline about my colossal failure as a parent. She smiles and tells me in less than two seconds what Emma was asking for.
"Hand puppets!"
Duh. Of course.
"Pliz", she says, frantically tapping her chest with the sign for please. She hands me the sock.
I take it.
"Hi," I say. "You've got a sock."
She looks at me expectantly, and says "pliz" a little louder.
"Shall I put it on?" I ask. "Shall I put the sock on my foot?" and I start to put the sock on my foot.
She grabs it off me and hands it to me again.
I take it.
"Pliz," she insists.
"Would you like me to put it on YOUR foot?" I ask and bend down to put the sock on HER foot.
She growls, like a little lion, and looks at me impatiently. She pulls the sock away from her foot and puts it in my hand.
"Pliz," she says, scowling.
I play peek-a-boo with it. I tickle her nose with it. I fly it around the room like a sick pigeon. I throw it on the floor. I throw it in the air. I throw it in the bath. All of this is wrong, and she is getting angrier and angrier at me. She has stopped asking nicely, resorting to a fingernail-on-chalkboard screech every time I get it wrong.
She grabs the sock and walks away. I didn't know that toddlers could huff. She turns her back on me in disgust.
Luckily, our daughter is patient and kind with slow learners, so she comes back a few moments later and generously gives me another chance.
"Pliz," she says, with a huge toothy grin, as if I have been deliberately holding out on her and she has to up the ante, laying on the cute factor. She is extremely cute and I'm not trying to teach her important world lessons abot the fact that she can't always get what she wants. I am genuinely baffled.
I tickle her belly with it, knowing that's not what she wants, but hoping beyond hope that it might work. I put the sock on my head and make a silly face. She laughs, but then gets back to business.
"Pliz," she says.
I put it on HER head.
And...she melts down. She cries. And cries. I am a terrible mother and have let her down in the worst possible way. She will never forgive me. She concedes to being cuddled, but cries all the way out the bedroom. All the way down the stairs. All the way along the hall. Her face is red, her eyes scrunched up. I can see her tonsils. It is the end of the world.
Eventually, she gets distracted by a little metal tin that she absolutely must explore. She wriggles out of my arms to go and play, and peace reigns again.
Later, I tell Caroline about my colossal failure as a parent. She smiles and tells me in less than two seconds what Emma was asking for.
"Hand puppets!"
Duh. Of course.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Puh-lease, Mum? (Anna)
Emma has well and truly mastered the art of saying please when she wants something. She does the sign for please on her chest and says earnestly "Pliz?"
Unfortunately, she doesn't yet have the language to tell us what it she wants. So while she is to be commended on her beautiful manners, half the time we have absolutely no idea what she's asking for. At first, it was obvious - she wanted what we had, or would point to something and ask us to pass it to us. But now, she's getting more subtle. And she seems to be going through a phase where she thinks that please replaces the need for all other words, so even when she has the word or the sign for what she wants, "pliz" is all we get.
From the other side of the park, she might very well repeat please over and over, getting increasingly frustrated with all the things we pass her ("Your bucket? A drink?") or offer her
("A cuddle? Thrown in the air? A cracker?") until we finally figure out that she wants to go on the swing that we didn't even know she had seen.
No wonder toddlers are known for having tantrums. They must think we adults are a little slow when we don't understand what it so obvious to them.
Unfortunately, she doesn't yet have the language to tell us what it she wants. So while she is to be commended on her beautiful manners, half the time we have absolutely no idea what she's asking for. At first, it was obvious - she wanted what we had, or would point to something and ask us to pass it to us. But now, she's getting more subtle. And she seems to be going through a phase where she thinks that please replaces the need for all other words, so even when she has the word or the sign for what she wants, "pliz" is all we get.
From the other side of the park, she might very well repeat please over and over, getting increasingly frustrated with all the things we pass her ("Your bucket? A drink?") or offer her
("A cuddle? Thrown in the air? A cracker?") until we finally figure out that she wants to go on the swing that we didn't even know she had seen.
No wonder toddlers are known for having tantrums. They must think we adults are a little slow when we don't understand what it so obvious to them.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Wading pool (Anna)
I know, I know. We've been extremely absent. Not in our lives - just in our blog posts. We've been back from France for weeks; had a great trip, but haven't found the time to post. Emma is terrific and we've been enjoying her. We've even taken a photo here and there. But no blogging. Oh well, sometimes life wins. Especially during the long evenings of summer. We've had some lovely moments, regardless of whether they were captured and recorded for prosperity.
Today, we set up our paddling pool in our front garden. (The same pool that Emma might have been born in, had our hopes of a home water birth come to fruition.) It took us a while to set it up - we had to retrieve our pump from our friend, borrow a hose, blow the pool up and then fill it. And of course, our main motivation for all this - a hot and sweaty baby and our fantasy about her splashing around in the pool on a very hot Saturday afternoon.
When we first airlifted her into the pool, she cried. Of course, we pulled her out, and decided that she was just responding to the fact that the water was too cold. So we shuttled warm water back and forth from the kitchen in tupperware containers until it was warm enough.
Emma, of course, being an independent sentient human being who doesn't do what we want just because we're (scoff) her parents, still had no interest in getting in.
So, to encourage her, and because we were hot, WE got into the pool.
And that's where our neighbours found us - two adults playing in a paddling pool with a bucket, two spades and a rubber duck while Emma pottered around us industriously making sure we didn't get up to any mischief.
(actually, this is a slight lie - by the time our neighbours found us, Emma has been in the pool with us for a good half hour before deciding to get out again, but that doesn't make such a good story.)
Today, we set up our paddling pool in our front garden. (The same pool that Emma might have been born in, had our hopes of a home water birth come to fruition.) It took us a while to set it up - we had to retrieve our pump from our friend, borrow a hose, blow the pool up and then fill it. And of course, our main motivation for all this - a hot and sweaty baby and our fantasy about her splashing around in the pool on a very hot Saturday afternoon.
When we first airlifted her into the pool, she cried. Of course, we pulled her out, and decided that she was just responding to the fact that the water was too cold. So we shuttled warm water back and forth from the kitchen in tupperware containers until it was warm enough.
Emma, of course, being an independent sentient human being who doesn't do what we want just because we're (scoff) her parents, still had no interest in getting in.
So, to encourage her, and because we were hot, WE got into the pool.
And that's where our neighbours found us - two adults playing in a paddling pool with a bucket, two spades and a rubber duck while Emma pottered around us industriously making sure we didn't get up to any mischief.
(actually, this is a slight lie - by the time our neighbours found us, Emma has been in the pool with us for a good half hour before deciding to get out again, but that doesn't make such a good story.)
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