Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Almost 2. How Did That Happen?

Dear Hazel,
This weekend, you turned 23 months old.  And celebrated the huge accomplishment by coming down with croup.  That was fun.  Almost as fun as molars.

I felt so bad for you, baby girl.  Just listening to you struggling to breathe was awful.  But a couple of shots of steroids later and you returned to a somewhat happy Bird.  You still spiked a temp every now and then... and let's be honest here, kicked Mommy and Daddy's butts in the process... but overall, you were still our sweet little girl that just wanted to be happy and were willing to fight for it.

The last couple of months have been amazing for you.  You've had your fair share of teething pains and you're also starting to skip naps or severely limiting your nap to just 1 hour.  Gone are the beautiful days of 3 hour naps, I'm afraid.  I miss those days already.  Because with taking just the 1 hour nap?  Someone throws A LOT more tantrums, these days.

You've also started to play more independently, which is so much fun to watch.  You especially love playing in your playhouse in the backyard.  I've got to get you some more props because I think you're losing the novelty of bringing me the fake corn or bread when I ask for it.  And, Grandma and Grandpa have some explaining to do because after they babysat you and your sissy for a weekend while Daddy and I had some much needed adult time, I came home to discover that when you played in the house and handed me a cup, instead of saying "wa-wa", you were instead saying "pop".  I guess we can be grateful that you're not saying Dr. Pepper. Yet.

Speaking of your playhouse, I've had your Daddy spray it repeatedly for spiders.  Because - and you'll soon learn this - Mommy will put up with a lot of things.  You can hand Mommy a booger and she'll thank you for it, before wiping it on the grass.  You can hand Mommy dog poop and she'll thank you for it and then remind you that rocks are not soft.  You can hand her "poot" (poop) from when you stick your hands down your diaper, and she'll hold the vomit in and wash your hands before reminding you that "poot" stays in the diaper.  But what you should never - MUST NEVER - do, is hand Mommy a spider. While calling it a bug.
Listen, sweetie... there are bugs... and there are SPIDERS. And spiders?  Not. Bugs.  An aphid?  Yes... an aphid is a bug.  And Mommy doesn't mind you playing with an aphid... or a roly-poly bug or a dragonfly or a grasshopper.  Those are cool things and Mommy's totally down with watching you interact with your world and nature.  But spiders?  SPIDERS ARE NOT NATURE.  Spiders are evil.  Spiders can kill people, sweetie.  Aphids?  No.  Aphids don't kill people.  Grasshoppers?  Grasshoppers kill crops... but that's okay because we live in Utah and the grasshoppers know that if they get out of hand the seagulls will be all: "Oh, no, you diin't!"  So the grasshoppers keep a low profile around here. (Non-Utahn's will never understand the genius that is those last two sentences.  But you'll get it.  Eventually) Dragonfly's?  Dragonfly's don't kill people.  They eat mosquito's.  And they make Mommy happy cuz they're purty.  Spiders?  Even on the off chance that the spider you're handing me doesn't kill people, he has a distant cousin in Australia, Iraq or next door (lookin' at you black widow and brown recluse) that can. And will.  And even if he doesn't kill, he can maim (lookin' at you hobo spider). Therefore, the only responsible thing to do when you see a spider is to hyperventilate and scream until your Daddy comes running with a shoe.  Have I clarified this enough for you?  Bugs, good. Spiders... can go straight to hell.  That's where they came from.  Send them home, sweetie.  Do NOT hand one to me in a teacup.  Ever. Again.


You are talking so much these days.  And you pick up on EVERYTHING.  And I do mean, EVERYTHING.  In fact, Mommy currently "owns" a lot of words that we don't exactly want you repeating in public.  That's okay, though... cuz Daddy owns a few things of his own... like how you shove Costco samples into your mouth whole, rather than taking bites.  Yep.  Daddy owns THAT one.  You can also, apparently, spell.  Because you used to jump up immediately and head for the door when a walk was suggested.  So we started spelling walk.  It took about two days before you picked up on that and as soon as we spelled  W-A-L-K, you'd run to the door, and yell:  WALK!!! 

You also like to play on your computer.  And pull it out whenever Mommy or Daddy are on our computer.  There's just something about OMG BUTTONS!!! that you can't get enough of.  And heaven help us if you see Mommy put something in her pocket and you go to do the same and discover - horror of horrors - that you don't have a pocket in those pants.  THE HUMANITY!  THE ABSOLUTE INDIGNITY OF NOT HAVING POCKETS WHEN YOU NEED A FREAKIN' POCKET!

And while you're getting really good at verbalizing what you want, you still confound us with some of your words that we simply cannot figure out.  But when we do figure out what you mean, we feel like we've just passed some sort of Toddler Test.  For instance, you have been saying EC, a lot.  And it started shortly after Aunt KC babysat you and we just assumed that that was how you said Aunt KC.


EC apparently stands for two things: 

1) Under the Sea... as in The Little Mermaid song... as in watching the video of Under the Sea on the computer. Over and over and over and over and over....

2) TV.  And now we know how Aunt KC keeps you entertained in our absence.  You say EC all the time.  And unfortunately, when either Mommy or Daddy is single-parenting it, we've had to sit you in your chair, and turn on the EC to Little Einsteins or Sesame Street so that we can feed Millie and put her to bed.  So... we're reinforcing the EC.  And it sucks.  But sometimes... well, sometimes that EC has saved our lives.  Seriously... I'm not sure what people did before EC.  I'm not sure how they kept their toddler out of the nursery, or kept them from setting the house on fire... but the EC has magical properties in that it can keep a toddler in a trance so that you can feed the baby and get dinner ready without having to navigate around Curious Hazel. 

Ah, Curious Hazel.  Curious Hazel loves to help.  Curious Hazel loves to throw away her diaper or her sissy's diaper.  And Curious Hazel likes to put stuff in the sink.  Things that may or may not belong in the sink.  Mommy has recently lost a wine glass to a bottle that you threw in the sink when I wasn't looking.  The good news is... there are more glasses where that one came from.  And you were just trying to help.  I cannot and will not ever get mad at that.  And I will remember this when you're a teenager and I can't get you to pick up a thing.

I've had to keep an eye on you lately because you think that you can pick up your sissy and I've had to jump up quickly and remind you that sissy need to stay on the ground.  You like to say "sissy" a lot.  And you have started saying Millie... but it comes out Miwwee.  And it's so stinkin' cute that I've started saying Miwwee. 

You've started to 'negotiate' bedtime.  Which I'm not a fan of.  We have decided that when it's time to wind down for the night, you get to pick one book for Daddy to read to you, and one book for Mommy to read to you.  And that's it.  Then we brush our teeth, give you a kiss and put you to bed.  We've had a few maintenance sessions of letting you cry for a bit... but this is non-negotiable, as far as I'm concerned.  7:30 is the latest you'll go to bed (barring a late night with friends occasionally) until you're much, much older.  Say, 21?

Speaking of books... my goodness, do you like to read!!  And not only that, but you are really understanding what's going on in the pictures.  And that, to me, is amazing.  The other night, we were reading Dr. Seuss' Foot Book.  And when we got to the part of "Well feet, Sick feet", you looked at the little character in the book, saw that his feet were "sick" and bandaged up, got a perplexed look on your face and said: "Ohhh." and leaned in to give the feet a kiss to make it better.  We read that book 15 times that night and every single time we came to the sick feet, you became very concerned.  As if you could feel the pain of the sick feet.  I've started showing you pictures of happy babies and crying babies... and you get very concerned when you see the picture of the crying baby and always give it a kiss. 

It's so stinkin' adorable I want to cry.

Currently you love having your hair done.  In a ponytail on top, pwease.  Which is good because you're hair is OUT of control and Mommy doesn't really know what to do with it other than to put it in a ponytail on top of your head, and smile politely when people giggle and say: "Awwww... she's so cute!  Did she do her hair by herself?"  Look... I happen to think you look great as Pebbles Flintstone. In fact... that's given me a great idea for Halloween.

You definitely know what you want and you're pumped that you can now verbalize it and Mommy jumps whenever you say:  Nana, wa-wa, melk, walk, park, pocket, rocks, acorn, tots, bib or piwwow.  In fact, I do believe that you wait until I get comfortable or am doing something else to ask me for something.  Even if you don't really want or need it.  You just like having the power to get me to do something.  The good news is that with this power comes great responsibility.  And since I know you now understand what I'm saying, there's a little more logic in my parenting.  Rather than just taking something from your hand because I know that negotiation is futile, I can reason with you (somewhat) and often get you to relinquish your grip on the rock or the dolly that's not yours.  When you hit... and yes, you hit... Mommy or Daddy can talk to you about why we don't hit.  And it usually ends with you saying sorry (sowwy) and giving us a hug and a kiss. 

That part of parenting rocks. 


No comments: