23 months

Dearest Francine,

This month is best characterized by your gentle sweetness, toddler sass, and lingering sickness.

Sweetness. Gentleness. Kindness. Lovingness. Like the time I mentioned to Daddy that I was bummed we were missing a beach getaway with friends, you came to me, gave me pat-pats and said "hugs" and laid your head on my shoulder. Or how you want to hold hands with Daddy when you nurse in bed. Or hold hands in the car. Or while I pee. Or the fact that both Daddy and I have been fighting a nasty cold on and off the past few weeks and you give pat-pats and back rubs and cover us in blankets or offer water. You sometimes put yourself in a time-out, I think just so you can say "sowy, hugs" and come get us with open arms. You are (mostly) sweet to your dolls, still adore babies, and love nothing more than looking at pictures on the iPad or iPhone of people you know.

And then there's your sass. Your spice. Your sour. You, my dear, can be an opinionated handful. This reminds me that you're just weeks away from being a full-blown 2-year-old. You fight diaper changes like it's the most painful thing to have ever existed. You despise being put in your car seat. You're getting strong, and you know how to wiggle and writhe out of a seemingly solid grasp. You don't want to get dressed when we say it's time, and you won't sit at the table to eat dinner with us, instead insisting on being taken out of your highchair, then being put back in. On repeat. You have an opinion about what shoes you wear, what coat you'll sport, whether or not you'll drink from your water bottle or mine, whether you should indeed be allowed to drink my coffee or eat off porcelain plates. You are testing limits and trying patience, and while I find it somewhat frustrating, I am pleased that you are your own little person.

And then there's the sickness. Good thing February is a short month, because my tolerance for this loitering illness has run very, very low. Our house has been sick in some combination or permutiation for nearly 3 weeks. I had a cold that put me out for two days. You rocked a green snotty nose. Daddy had a cough. You barfed all over yourself in the car. Daddy's cough got worse. My cold returned. You got sent home from daycare with pinkeye. Turns out you had an ear infection too. Daddy has a sinus infection. Gross, gross and gross. Bleach bottles to the rescue.

Your speech, language and cognitive development continue to mesmerize us. Strangers will often tell us how "smart" you are, and although we agree, we are more inclined to be enthralled with the simple fact that you really do know more today than you did yesterday. Take the other day, when daddy locked the car (with the automatic locking device in his POCKET!) you said, "car. bark." about the chirping noise of the lock. You call school/daycare "goos." You still refer to yourself in the 3rd person as "Ceecee." You very politely use your manners to say "please" and "tankoo." You love being "nakie," and do a little naked dance both before and after bath time. You sometimes chant, "boobies, boobies, boobies" when you want "mik" because it makes me laugh. And when daddy changed from his PJs to clothes the other day you said, "hola, peepis." Again, we laughed. And boy are you pleased with yourself when you get us smiling or giggling. You think toast has something to do with your toes. You can differentiate between milks - cow, goat, or boobies. You still mostly speak in a string of one-word phrases, can rock the two-word phrases, and throw in three-word phrases throughout the day, e.g. "wake up, mama."

You know all your colors with great ease, you recognize some of the letters of the alphabet by their correct name (not just associating "m" with "mama"). You inconsistently can count to five with some assistance. And you blame everything on Ayana from school. If you have a scratch on your arm, maybe from dry skin, you point, say "hurt, Ayana did." You are aware of your own social reluctance - "shy. hold" you say, before we arrive at a friends house or at school, when Beebee comes over, or before FaceTiming Mimi.

If you're not overly tired or hungry or emotional, we can rationalize with you. You no longer cry when you wake up in the morning and instead shout, "Mama! Daddy! Ready! Yeah!" because we explained to you that no tears are necessary and we will respond to your words. We easily bribed you with a "treat" when we test drove our new car. And if we mention anything that sounds appealing to you, you won't let us forget it. Like the time I said you could color when we got home after grocery shopping, you reminded me the second we walked in the door.

 

When asked if you are a "baby" or "kid," you usually respond "kid," and I would agree - you are a toddler all the way. As we left the house today for daycare/work, you refused to wear socks, insisted you put on your rain boots by yourself, donned your butterfly-shaped sunglasses (although it was darkish and cloudy), and carried your purse and a play wallet over your shoulder to the car. You looked like a little girl with att-i-tude.

A typical commuter conversation between us goes a little something like this:
You: Daddy?
Me: Where is daddy today?
You: Work.
Me: Yup, he's at work today.
You: Mama new car.
Me: Yeah, we're driving my new car, do you like it?
You: Knees (I look back and see that your boots have been removed and flung to the other seat, and your pant legs are pulled up well above your knees). Goos (how you pronounce "school").
Me: Yeah, your knees are showing.
You: Kid ... horse ... baby ... goos. Shy. Is okay baby .... Hold. Hold.
Me: (thinking, trying to determine what she's talking about.) Ah, yes, that's a kid on that billboard, and you're right, it used to have a picture of a horse. We are headed to school. It's okay to feel shy. I can hold you for a minute, but then I'll have to leave for work. And we need to tell Dani how to do your eye medicine.
You: Memuh! (medicine). Bar .... bar. Daddy car. Mama hold. Bath. Yucky.
Me: (again, thinking, trying to determine the topic of this conversation). Oh! Yeah, you did barf, huh, in daddy's car, and then I gave you a bath so you could be all clean. But you're okay now, huh.
You: Gwoss.

This, all interspersed by coughing, demands for "water water water!," followed by a refusal to, in fact, keep the water bottle in your lap so I don't have to keep passing it back to you, and requests for our modified version of Wheels on the Bus. "Bus! Bus! Song. Song bus."


So without further adieu, for you, my love ...

The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round, the wheels on the bus go round and round, all around the town.

The Daddy on the bus goes "tickle tickle tickle," "tickle tickle tickle," "tickle tickle tickle," the Daddy on the bus goes "tickle tickle tickle," all around the town.

The Beebee on the bus goes "vroom vroom vroom" ...

The Mimi on the bus goes "pat-a-cake" ...

The Papa on the bus goes "strum strum strum" ...

The Bri-Bri on the bus goes "first class please" ...

The Jen on the bus goes "Detroit rocks" ...

The B on the bus goes "cook that pig" ...

The Francie on the bus goes "see me nakie" ...

The Mama on the bus goes "I love you" ...