It's been a rough couple of weeks for you. But you have emerged relatively unscathed and looking more like the little angel that you are.
You (and everyone else in day care) had a runny nose for a couple of weeks. But it didn't bother you and you went on your merry way. In fact, Daddy "taught" you how to blow your nose. Somewhat. We hold the tissue to your nose and say: "What sound does a moose make?' And then you snort into the tissue. Meanwhile, we use this distraction to wipe your nose. It seemed to be working well and then... well, then the runny nose started to really get bad. We're talking green boogers and blood bad. And you started to get SUPER fussy. But, we figured that maybe you were teething again... because really, have you stopped teething in the last year? Nope. So, we'd give you some Tylenol and just deal with your fussiness.
Then one day, I got a call from day care telling me you had a fever. Weird. But, often when you have a fever at day care, I bring you home and check and it's a full degree less than what it was at day care and not a problem. So, I wasn't too worried. Until I picked you up and brought you home. By the time we got home, your temp had gone from 100 at day care to 102. I quickly gave you some Tylenol and put you to bed. Because Mommy's an idiot that way.
You woke back up and your temp was normal so I thought we were out of the woods. Until 2 hours later and your temp was back up to 102. Blah. By then, it was too late to get you to the doctor so we figured we'd see if you miraculously recovered overnight. But, you woke up at midnight needing another dose and we knew it was a big deal.
The next day, we took you to the doc to find out that you had a bacterial sinus infection that absolutely needed treatment. Yep. Your mother... is completely inept with you.
Anyway, after just the first two doses of antibiotic, your nose was starting to clear up... but you were even more fussy than before. We had started to give you children's Motrin because it lasted longer than the Tylenol because, for some stupid reason, we thought that you were still teething.
And still... you continued to fuss. And it was the kind of "fuss" that echoed those first few weeks of your life where I wanted to rip off my ears and smash my head through the front door. You remember those days, don't you? When you were pure evil? Yea... that's pretty much where we were with you last weekend.
Finally, after day two of the constant whining... the constant, unending, unmerciful whining that had both Mommy and Daddy at the end of our ropes... your Daddy went to change your pj's (yes... we left you in pj's until noon because we knew you would freak out if we dared change you) and noticed a rash that covered your entire torso.
Yea... that couldn't have been comfortable. We immediately jumped into action (two days too late, but waddayagonnado?) and put some hydrocortisone on it and voila! Within 15 minutes, our CrankyPants had almost returned to her regularly scheduled programming. Turns out, someone's allergic to ibuprofen. You know... the same stuff we'd been shoving down your gullet for two days because we thought your fussiness was due to teething, when really it was due to THE IBUPROFEN.
Seriously. Parents. Of. The. Year.
What really sucked about the whole situation was that Grandma and Grandpa Nadolski were in town to visit and... yea, we didn't get to show off your angel-like qualities that we'd been telling everyone about. Oh well... there's always San Diego.
In other news, you now have more toys at your disposal than you know what to do with. And that Mommy keeps tripping over. But, do you know what you want to play with? The only thing that holds your attention for more than 15 seconds? Markers. Specifically, the pink marker. More specifically, the pink marker's cap that you want to take on and off and on and off and on and off... and then when you put it on and can't get it off you scream and bring it to me to take off... so that you can put it back on again.
Yep.
Since the episode with the ibuprofen, you have been an angel. I mean... seriously. An ANGEL. You are helpful around the house. You like to help me empty the new dishwasher (which I'm already planning on reminding you of when you're 15). Although, today you climbed on to the new dishwashers new door. And Mommy's brain almost exploded. Did I mention that it's NEW?
But, climbing is your thing these days. As is dancing. Not that dancing hasn't ALWAYS been your thing, but this dancing is more joyful and happy than before. Like you're finally getting how amazing it is to move your body and think that everyone else in the world is stupid for not partaking in this magic.
You've started to talk a little more. The other day, you blew my mind when I gave you some cottage cheese and you said "Thank You." You. Said. THANK YOU. While also making the sign for it. I couldn't believe it! Granted, the majority of it is jibber-jabber... and you are telling some amazing stories that I can't wait to hear about when you actually start talking... but you are picking up on and imitating words that we say. Shoes. Cheese. And... well, deuce.
Yep. It's possible that Mommy and Daddy taught you to say "deuce" when you potty #2. This happened completely innocently. You've taken to using the sign for potty whenever you... go. We've heard that this means we should start potty training you... but honestly, that sounds HARD. So, we're ignoring that advice for now. Anyway, one day you made the sign and we asked if you went #1 or #2. And I think that you like the sound of #2... and tried to repeat it. But it came out "deuce". And when we checked... YEP! DEUCE!
Babe! Come quick! Our daughter is freaking brilliant!!!! Call your parents!!!
Ah... the miracle of parenthood. Feeling pride that your daughter accidentally told you she deuced while you clean up said deuce. We may have taken this to the extreme.
(Who? US?)
I cannot believe how much you've grown in the past couple of months. Physically, mentally, emotionally... you're not a baby anymore. Sometimes I find it hard to classify you as a toddler. It seems like you grow every day and you're my little girl now. And that just breaks my heart. I can't believe how fast it's gone. And I still look back (and feel guilty) about those first few months where I was wishing you'd get just a little bit older... faster... so I wouldn't have to carry you everywhere. Or grind up your food. Or have to rock you down for an hour before you would fall asleep.
Now? Well, the only time you want me to carry you anywhere is when I'm carrying the car seat. Which is usually up the stairs at day care. You usually love to tackle the stairs. But, it's like you're trying to prove a point. And food? Forget about it. You will eat just about anything. At any time of day. And are constantly asking for more? more? more? I mean, it's cute and I adore hearing your voice... it just makes me think about the time when you were completely and totally dependent on me and couldn't just go to the pantry and pull out a box of rice and spill it on the floor while looking for crackers. And forget about me rocking you to sleep at night. That ship has sailed. I get just enough time to tell you I love you and get a kiss from you before you lean back as if to say: Alright! Bedtime, Mommy!
I do realize that this is not something I should complain about. But... you know. I miss it.
You are a great big sister to Millie. And boy, is she enthralled with you. You like to help me feed her when she's taking a bottle. And when I feed her in the morning, you don't get upset anymore and just play by yourself until we're done. You also like to give her kisses. Lots and lots of kisses. And sneezes. Lots and lots of sneezes.
I love you so much, Hazel. I can't wait until this stupid spring weather clears up so we can take you to the zoo and show you all the animals. You're old enough that I think you'll actually enjoy it. Of course, that means either Mommy or Daddy is going to wear themselves out chasing after you. You like to get out and run, that's for sure. Prior to having kids, I openly judged those parents who had their kids on leashes. I mean, how hard can it POSSIBLY BE to keep an eye on your 18 month old and keep them close to you?
Turns out? REALLY. FREAKIN'. HARD.
But, I still can't put a leash on you. Not that there haven't been days I've seriously considered it. And that's just for in our house. But, I've decided that this is part of parenting. And this is what we chose. And that this, too, shall pass. Hopefully before you manage to sneak into the ostrich pen.
Love,
Mama
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