Lucy every three months up to 2 1/4 years – click for bigger
Hi there my sweet little Lulubean pumpkinpants! I know I said I’d write one of these every three months to you, but summers are crazy for us right now: it’s not just the high season for all things television, but it’s also the time we travel to see family, attend weddings, and anything else that comes our way. I usually purport to say something interesting, so I keep putting it off, and now here we are, well past your 2 1/4 mark. Still, I’m a glutton for formalism, so here you go.
The phrase most uttered in our house is “where the hell did she learn THAT?” – spoken by me to Tessa, or the other way around. Your lapses into soliloquy have to be some of the funniest shite we’ve heard in years, even if you yell “don’t laugh!” when you’re done.
You went on a Timothy Leary-esque tangent on The Long Way of the Fork at dinner the other night – O! Would that we had the camera! It lasted for five minutes and made sense in some LSD-drenched cranny in your expanding mind. All I know is that you were holding a fork aloft and telling a story with the oblique refrain “and the fork goes like this… the LOOOOOOONG WAAAAAAAAY.” It reminded me of my intellectual fraternity brothers after shotgunning a full bottle of Pimm’s.
You have continued using superfluous words in sentences just to try them out, even though it can make you sound excessively formal:
“I think I’m going to have to get dressed… after all.”
“Here’s the thing – my diaper has poop.”
“Actually, I find the pasta is quite cold, I think.”
“I asked Barnaby if he was delighted to have pancakes.”
Sometimes I wonder if you haven’t escaped from some Victorian-era boarding school for girls (or if it’s just my wife’s fault).
My favorite grammatical mixup (since five-teen) is your understanding of the word “relax”. You think it’s plural, thus you say “I relack” and “She relacks.” I love these mistakes so much, because it allows me to look at English from an outsider’s standpoint – after all, there’s no reason for you NOT to think “relax” is the plural of “relack.”
I raked leaves in the yard and you jumped in
We’ve had two big breakthroughs: one is not waking up from a nap in paroxysms of screaming misery – now you simply yell “Daddo! I’m awake! And I didn’t cry at all!” The other is your hard-won understanding that it’s okay for us to leave you at school, or in a nap, or in other circumstances – because we always come back. The following movie from July is long (and therefore only of interest to your fambly) but it shows the fascinating transference of this idea to your doll Patty:
They say “three is the new two” (along with “40 is the new 29”) so we’re not counting any chickens. BUT… you don’t seem particularly interested in tantrums. You will doggedly wear us out on an issue “Can I have just one cookie and then no more? Can I have a cookie, just one, and then not another one? Can I have one cookie for me? etc…” but you will always take a reasonable substitute without throwing yourself on the floor and banging your fists until the neighbors call the Feds. In fact, I’ve watched you watch other kids having tantrums, and you seem removed yet oddly attentive, like you’re judging the long-form figure skating at the Winter Olympics.
I have to mention one thing before we all forget – you have such a nurturing instinct that you not only care for your three dolls like children, but you’ll anthropomorphize anything. Last week, you cared for a peach for an hour (before eating it), and two days ago, you said your new Dora the Explorer cup (still in the shrink wrap) was your baby, and you rocked it to sleep.
the “hand crib”
When you don’t have a doll or other implement handy, you turn your right hand upwards and call it your daughter, stroking it to sleep on various pillows. It’s a little disturbing, since it makes us look like parents who won’t buy you anything, but there’s something so achingly sweet about it as well.
Most of all, I’m so in love with your indefatigable spirit. One of your best playmates bit the ever-lovin’ HELL out of your shoulder blade last week, and you did scream in misery… but you forgave him instantly and wanted to keep playing with the trucks. I watch you run around the house, spending just enough time to charm the socks off whomever’s there, and I just wish I could go back in time. Back to my wracked shell of a self ten years ago, and say, just keep moving, you will see something in the future that will make all of this sadness evaporate in a hot second.