Thirty Five Months
This month has been full not only of Christmas cheer but also of several milestones for you. This month embarks the beginning of the end of your career in diapers. While Costco may be disappointed, I'm sure ready. The last frontier was Number 2- and you simply wouldn't do it, wouldn't attempt it, wouldn't discuss it. I begged, I pleaded, I bribed and finally, I simply refused to put a diaper on you and we waited it out. You poop twice a day- once in the morning and once in the late afternoon or early evening. You lasted the entire day, crying about your butt and on and off the toilet hundreds of times. Just before bedtime you went upstairs with Dad and the magic happened- you pooped! We praised, we cheered, we gave you a guitar that plays the Police and Smashmouth. And since then, you've never repeated the performance and we've had lots of laundry and frustration. See- my strategy totally worked. But only once. Now I have to find a different one. Crap.
I never expected to have to play referee so soon, especially since I've avoided giving you a sibling for just that reason (and also because being fat and pregnant sucks). But you and Timber have virtually the same relationship. You follow each other around, constantly finding ways to tease and annoy each other. Timber barks, you poke, pull and agitate him, I scold and separate. Wait two minutes. Repeat. You got in big trouble several times this month for spitting milk at him and then breaking down into fits of chuckles on the floor. You also delight in encouraging the dogs to play peekaboo by burying them beneath pillows, blankets or piles of dirty laundry. Where's Miles? Miles? Miles? And Miles struggles to emerge, confused and bewildered why someone smart enough to hide him can't remember where he is. The biggest problem with this game is I have a hard time not laughing. And also Dad and I do this to the dogs all the time because we think it's hilarious. So who am I to criticize?
Christmas this month is in full swing and we've introduced the story of Santa. Dad and I couldn't decide how best to do this or if we even wanted to, but we told you the story and gave you access to various supporting materials- Christmas movies and other paraphernalia. Thus far, I'm not sure it's sunk in much. Your comments have alluded to the fact that Santa is scary and you have the impression that any old guy with a white beard is named Santa. We were in a restaurant earlier in the month and you were pointing and screeching in excitement. "Look, there's Santa! Santa, Mommy!" Yes. Hmmm. Santa is drinking wine and trying to enjoy his evening. Let's not alert the other elves, okay? During our first Christmas together, Dad gave me a picture of him on Santa's lap. (There's a long story about this and it involves your Grandma. I'll tell you when you're old enough to think it's funny that Santas are usually dirty old men.) I keep it around the house and bring it out at Christmas time. You saw it the other day and ran to it, pointing excitedly. "That's Daddy and Santa! MY DADDY!"
The holiday season has brought all sorts of special events- buying a Christmas tree, parties, baking cookies and more. You've gotten into the habit of developing a script of the day in your head and I think it helps comfort you. Every night when I put you in bed and kiss you good night, you ask me to tell you about tomorrow. 'What will we do, Mama?" And as I run down the schedule of your day, you clarify, pointing your little forefinger. "So, first we will eat breakfast, AND THEN we will play. AND THEN, go ride the car for shopping." It's rather adorable. Sometimes I wonder if I missing the perfect opportunity to create a magical day for myself. I could insert some details in there like- "First we will eat cauliflower for breakfast and then we will poop in the potty AND THEN we will find a million dollars and we'll all live happily ever after. THE END."