Allegra,
Yesterday was Thanksgiving. We had a great day at your Grandma and Grandpap's house, even though Luke overturned an entire family-sized bowl of cranberry sauce on their carpet. You got to meet Will, your newest little cousin, and you were as gentle as can be. Soft and quiet and all grown up. I was very proud.
Lately you have these moments when you are just big. We went to dinner at preschool with you a few days ago, and you went to the bathroom all by yourself! Just walked away, took care of business, and came back with clean, dry hands. And I have still been doing the pants pulling up and down for you at home sometimes! I just sat there, surprised at how self-sufficient you can be when you want to be.
But. You definitely don't always want to be.
I just thought I'd mention that even adults feel that way a lot. We are all very good at being grown up in some situations. But everybody has times when they feel like they are still three years old. And...yes, everybody has times when they act that way, too. Sometimes it's pretty silly. And sometimes, you don't even know you're doing it until later. It's ok. It's hard to grow up, even when you ARE grown up.
You ask me to "hold you like a baby" sometimes, and I do. But you're not a baby any more, little one. You are doing all kinds of independent things, and there are already places where you don't need me at all. I love that. Keep growing. Keep learning. Keep on being just as brave and kind as you were created to be. These qualities will stay with you, even when you feel very small and baby-like.
Love, Mom.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Amusement parks and bravery
Today was your first trip to an amusement park. It was a hot, sunny, gorgeous day in July. You spent the whole prior day watching videos on the internet about it, and you were so patient on the hour-long car ride. We were impressed.
You, however, were unimpressed with it in the beginning. Storybook forest? Nah. We bypassed all the little kid stuff and went straight to a hot air balloon ride that swung us high in the air. I was a little nervous about you, because while you were a devil-may-care baby, practically throwing yourself down the stairs for your Daddy to catch you, now you are much more cautious. You like to know what's coming, and you like to be prepared. So sometimes, when something catches you too off-guard, you shut it down fast. Nope. No more of that. And once you have your mind made up, well, that's that.
So I tried to warn you that the ride went high, and that it felt even higher when you were on it. And that it would swing you out wide, and that you might feel like you were falling. That it would be ok if you didn't want to try it this year. But you got that big adult (da-dult) ride and up, up it went. It started to swoop us around. Your Daddy and I both got a little bit sick. That thing was f.a.s.t. And here was your face.
Priceless.
After a long, napless day of lazy river rides, turtle-spotting, and wandering all over the place, we ended our day in Raccoon Lagoon. We got in line for the first ride we saw, a classic car ride with a long trac. After we got to the front of the line, though, we found out the rules about Raccoon Lagoon. There, only the kids can ride the rides. And not many two-year-olds were there...mostly older kids, three and four years old, some older.
Surprise. You'd be going by yourself. I was pretty sure that would be the end of it, considering you and the way you like to be sure of things first. But you walked right out there, got into a shiny teal cruiser, and let the attendant buckle you in. You looked straight at us and then, solemnly, drove away, out onto the track. You didn't even look back.
Your Daddy and I hugged and stared. Dude, you are big. Just so very big. And tough. And brave. Once you got to the other side of the ride, you looked over and smiled. And when you were done, we could see the pride all over your face. It was all over all of our faces.
There were a few kid rides that you passed up, because they looked a little too scary. But that day, you drove your own boat, rode in bumper cars AND pushed the gas pedal AND steered AND smiled when someone bumped you (Impressive. I hate getting bumped.) and generally made us proud.
Allegra, we had the best day. A sun-shiny, ice-creamy, laughing day. Here's the memory for you to keep. We love you.
You, however, were unimpressed with it in the beginning. Storybook forest? Nah. We bypassed all the little kid stuff and went straight to a hot air balloon ride that swung us high in the air. I was a little nervous about you, because while you were a devil-may-care baby, practically throwing yourself down the stairs for your Daddy to catch you, now you are much more cautious. You like to know what's coming, and you like to be prepared. So sometimes, when something catches you too off-guard, you shut it down fast. Nope. No more of that. And once you have your mind made up, well, that's that.
So I tried to warn you that the ride went high, and that it felt even higher when you were on it. And that it would swing you out wide, and that you might feel like you were falling. That it would be ok if you didn't want to try it this year. But you got that big adult (da-dult) ride and up, up it went. It started to swoop us around. Your Daddy and I both got a little bit sick. That thing was f.a.s.t. And here was your face.
Priceless.
After a long, napless day of lazy river rides, turtle-spotting, and wandering all over the place, we ended our day in Raccoon Lagoon. We got in line for the first ride we saw, a classic car ride with a long trac. After we got to the front of the line, though, we found out the rules about Raccoon Lagoon. There, only the kids can ride the rides. And not many two-year-olds were there...mostly older kids, three and four years old, some older.
Surprise. You'd be going by yourself. I was pretty sure that would be the end of it, considering you and the way you like to be sure of things first. But you walked right out there, got into a shiny teal cruiser, and let the attendant buckle you in. You looked straight at us and then, solemnly, drove away, out onto the track. You didn't even look back.
Your Daddy and I hugged and stared. Dude, you are big. Just so very big. And tough. And brave. Once you got to the other side of the ride, you looked over and smiled. And when you were done, we could see the pride all over your face. It was all over all of our faces.
There were a few kid rides that you passed up, because they looked a little too scary. But that day, you drove your own boat, rode in bumper cars AND pushed the gas pedal AND steered AND smiled when someone bumped you (Impressive. I hate getting bumped.) and generally made us proud.
Allegra, we had the best day. A sun-shiny, ice-creamy, laughing day. Here's the memory for you to keep. We love you.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Pushing.
You are not quite two-and-a-half, and you've been potty trained for a few weeks now. Our first few outings without diapers were pretty terrifying for me. You haven't made many mistakes since you started wearing real underpants, but the times when you HAVE have been pretty hard for you to take. You stand there, wailing, inconsolable. I get that, for sure. It's awful to fail at something you're trying really hard at, and when the diaper you trusted to keep you dry through your whole nap gets all wedgied and stops working...well, it is just not fair.
So today at church was your second Sunday without diapers, and you were walking tall. You were so excited to use the big girl potty the second we got there, and last week you did just fine. But this time, while you were so high up on that toilet, the auto-flush mechanism went off. It was loud, and splashy, and I saw it in your wide-eyed face. Fear. Suddenly, this was not fun. You were done, though, and so up went the pants and we were out the door. And everything was fine, until just before we were ready to leave, when I could tell you had to go.
'NOOoooo...' you said once we got into the bathroom. 'I don't want to go on THAT potty. It's too loud.' I propped the church bulletin over the motion sensor on the wall and reassured you that I fixed it. No surprise flushes this time, Baby Girl. But you were not reassured. You wanted nothing to do with that toilet.
So I sat down on the seat myself, far back so that there was space in front of me for you to sit. Nope, you were not having it. You let out a shriek, then a wail, then a host of echo-y sobs that traveled right out to the congregation outside. 'NOOO Mommy! NO! I don't WANT to pee pee on THAT potty!'
I asked. I joked. I bribed. I promised. I even lifted you up and sat you on the toilet, thinking that you just needed to see how not-scary the toilet was. You arched your back and screamed, kicked, and slid right to the floor. Sigh.
Our plans to drop by the store on the way home were gone. We both pouted on the way home - you, because I tried to force you to do something you were scared of and not ready to do again. And I pouted because I couldn't believe I did that to you.
I do it to myself all the time - I push, I suck it up, I force it - and in some ways, this has really been a good thing in my life. I want to promise you, Allegra, that I will not push you. And yet, sometimes I will push without even realizing it until it is too late. Maybe there will be times that you'll need it, and it'll be the right thing. But I know that my job is NOT to force you to grow or to try new things. My job is to stand behind you, to be quiet and strong as you gather the strength to push yourself.
So, Ladybug, I'm sorry. I know how brave you are, and yet how soft your heart is and how small you feel sometimes. You ARE small. The world, full of sirens and crocodiles and big toilets that flush unexpectedly, can be really terrifying. But you have everything that you need to navigate the world all by yourself. We believe in you, and we will do our best to let you chart your own course, in your own time.
So today at church was your second Sunday without diapers, and you were walking tall. You were so excited to use the big girl potty the second we got there, and last week you did just fine. But this time, while you were so high up on that toilet, the auto-flush mechanism went off. It was loud, and splashy, and I saw it in your wide-eyed face. Fear. Suddenly, this was not fun. You were done, though, and so up went the pants and we were out the door. And everything was fine, until just before we were ready to leave, when I could tell you had to go.
'NOOoooo...' you said once we got into the bathroom. 'I don't want to go on THAT potty. It's too loud.' I propped the church bulletin over the motion sensor on the wall and reassured you that I fixed it. No surprise flushes this time, Baby Girl. But you were not reassured. You wanted nothing to do with that toilet.
So I sat down on the seat myself, far back so that there was space in front of me for you to sit. Nope, you were not having it. You let out a shriek, then a wail, then a host of echo-y sobs that traveled right out to the congregation outside. 'NOOO Mommy! NO! I don't WANT to pee pee on THAT potty!'
I asked. I joked. I bribed. I promised. I even lifted you up and sat you on the toilet, thinking that you just needed to see how not-scary the toilet was. You arched your back and screamed, kicked, and slid right to the floor. Sigh.
Our plans to drop by the store on the way home were gone. We both pouted on the way home - you, because I tried to force you to do something you were scared of and not ready to do again. And I pouted because I couldn't believe I did that to you.
I do it to myself all the time - I push, I suck it up, I force it - and in some ways, this has really been a good thing in my life. I want to promise you, Allegra, that I will not push you. And yet, sometimes I will push without even realizing it until it is too late. Maybe there will be times that you'll need it, and it'll be the right thing. But I know that my job is NOT to force you to grow or to try new things. My job is to stand behind you, to be quiet and strong as you gather the strength to push yourself.
So, Ladybug, I'm sorry. I know how brave you are, and yet how soft your heart is and how small you feel sometimes. You ARE small. The world, full of sirens and crocodiles and big toilets that flush unexpectedly, can be really terrifying. But you have everything that you need to navigate the world all by yourself. We believe in you, and we will do our best to let you chart your own course, in your own time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)