Just got back from a week in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic and our first international family vacation. Suffice it to say that we had an amazing time and that all of us needed the getaway and the week to just unwind, reconnect and relax.
And relax we did. Especially my Bella. My shy, reserved, cautious little girl took to the new routine (or lack there of), the sand and surf as I should have known any child of mine would. I could literally see her shedding her shell and letting loose almost as soon as we arrived. She was all smiles, giggles and unbridled joy as she frolicked in the ocean, rolled in the sand, and perhaps best of all, danced and danced to the sounds of the salsa and merengue that was the backdrop to our seven days and nights.
The affects of a whole week, just the three of us, with nothing to do but be together, unburdened by work and chores and our busy city life can not possibly be summed up or demonstrated any better than by this video, shot in front of an airport full of people as we waited to board our plane and fly home. My girl, unselfconscious and as carefree as any toddler should be, shaking what her mama gave her, dancing like there was nobody on earth but her and us. Making my hopes for her come true, even if just for a few blissful moments:
Showing posts with label 19 - 24 Months. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 19 - 24 Months. Show all posts
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Happy Birthday to You: 23 Months Old
Dear Anabella,
Yesterday you turned 23 months old. And so, on this final day of the decade, we are into the final stretch of your 'ones'! Can't deal. Can. Not. Deal.
As always, I could sit here and write a novella about all the developments this month delivered. All the good times (Christmas! Santa! Family and friends!) and all the not so good (Hunger strike! Sleepless nights! TANTRUMS!) but alas, today is a busy day as we are preparing to leave on our very first international family vacation (read: airplane) early tomorrow morning.
Am in a FULL panic.
Instead, I'll leave you with just our 23 month pictures. As a side note, I think it's worth noting that this month, for the first time, when I asked you to get into your chair for the photos, you said, "OK Mommy," and just climbed on up. Just look, JUST LOOK, at how you are filling in that chair!
Can't deal.
I love you.
Mommy
Yesterday you turned 23 months old. And so, on this final day of the decade, we are into the final stretch of your 'ones'! Can't deal. Can. Not. Deal.
As always, I could sit here and write a novella about all the developments this month delivered. All the good times (Christmas! Santa! Family and friends!) and all the not so good (Hunger strike! Sleepless nights! TANTRUMS!) but alas, today is a busy day as we are preparing to leave on our very first international family vacation (read: airplane) early tomorrow morning.
Am in a FULL panic.
Instead, I'll leave you with just our 23 month pictures. As a side note, I think it's worth noting that this month, for the first time, when I asked you to get into your chair for the photos, you said, "OK Mommy," and just climbed on up. Just look, JUST LOOK, at how you are filling in that chair!
Can't deal.
I love you.
Mommy
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
We Wish You a Merry Christmas!
Last year was Bella's first Christmas and I so badly wanted to freeze it in time with a traditional mall-Santa photo that we could laugh at for decades to come, but the protector in me kicked in and I didn't take her, knowing full well that placing her on that strange man's knee in the middle of that strange place would instantly send her into full cardiac arrest and probably scar her for life.
You see, my daughter, though charming, outgoing and funny as hell in private, suffers from more than her fair share of acute social anxiety. If she is placed in the vicinity of anyone that she has not known for her ENTIRE life she immediately retreats into herself, clutches onto my neck, and acts as if the world will end should this/these strange people so much as glance in her direction.
I always tell our guests, or any newish people who come near her, that it's best to avoid eye contact for at least one full hour and for GOD'S SAKE do NOT speak directly to her. Truly it's best to pretend as if she does not exist, until she's ready to come to you. This might take an hour, or it might take 3 days. Deal. With. It.
Last month, my employer had a company-wide children's Christmas party. It was technically for kids a little older than Bella, but they rented out an entire amusement park, and had gifts and of course, the Big Guy himself would be there, posing for pictures with the kids that would tolerate them. I so wanted her to go and though I didn't expect that she'd actually sit on his knee for a photo, this year she knows who Santa is and I secretly hoped that she'd be so awed in his presence that I could sneak her up there for a quick snap before all hell broke loose.
Well, hell broke loose at our house before we even left for the party. It started too late and her nap schedule was off and yadda yadda yadda a major meltdown/tantrum ensued. Plug was pulled on the mission and I resigned myself to another Santaless Christmas. Unlike last year, I was actually really disappointed this time around. I felt like she would have had a really good time at the party and even if she didn't get a photo with Santa, she would have loved to see him and to run around the park with the other little elves from the office.
Imagine my delight then when I realized that we'd get another chance!
Yesterday morning Bella's daycare had their annual Christmas sing-a-long. I think it used to be an actual concert until the caregivers realized that they were pretty much the only people doing any singing, while the all kids cried or stood frozen in stage-frightened silence.
The sing-a-long was fun, or would have been if it weren't for my anxiety-riddled child clinging to my neck and chest so tightly that I'm covered in claw marks today. There were moments, during her very favourite songs (Twinkle, Twinkle and Jingle Bells), where she loosed her grip on my throat a little and sang along, and in those moments I died and went to heaven. I'll never survive an actual school choir performance. Never.
But then, near the end of our sing-a-long, a tremor of excitement rippled through the room. A tremor that could only be caused by one man... that's right... tapping at the window with his candy cane cane and a full-on teen-aged, angst-ridden elf at his side. Santa. The kids went off like tweens at a Jonas Brothers concert, and my Bella? Oh my sweet, sweet little Bella. She looked up at me and took my cheeks in her little hands. Her eyes were wide as saucers and little body was literally reverberating with the sheer amazement of it all as she looked right into my eyes and whispered, "Mommy, it's Santa Clause." (Note, there's a video coming but I don't have time to upload it right now).
Of course I cried. I couldn't contain it. It was the magic of Christmas. The way that it should be. The pure, unadulterated, unspoiled, unrestrained joy of a child seeing Santa for the first time and not just believing it was him, but knowing it was him. It was a moment that I will remember and cherish for the rest of time.
Of course, Santa and his elf settled into pose with the children for pictures. Most kids were dragged over there against their will kicking and screaming all the way. The protector in me reared her head yet again and though I asked Bella several times if she wanted to go sit with Santa, she answered no each time and I didn't press the issue. She was happyish to watch from a distance, in the safety of my arms, as other kids sat on his knee for photos. Finally, once almost all the kids had their turns, I said to her, "Last chance Kiddo, do you want to go and see Santa?" And she, leaned into to me and in her breathy little voice said, "Yes."
So over we went, Cairn standing by with the camera at the ready. I stood with her for a minute or so while we said hi to Santa and she gave him a high five (super-cute) and then we went for it. Attempt one went something like this. I sat her down on his jolly old knee. She lasted a quarter of a section before she launched herself up into the air as if his leg was composed entirely of red hot coals, screaming and flailing all the while. It was quite the feat of strength and acrobatics, actually:
I think attempt number two wraps up this holiday post about as perfectly as anything ever could. It speaks volumes about how sometimes we think we want things for our kids, we think it's going to make the season special, or memorable, we think we're forging lifelong family traditions. But really? For the kids a chorus of jingle bells and that first glance of Santa Clause can make all their dreams come true. The rest of it? The dresses and the shopping and the pictures taken on Santa's knee? Well that stuff is mostly for us. And that's okay! We deserve to be happy too.
From my crazy little family to yours - a heartfelt Happy Holidays.
You see, my daughter, though charming, outgoing and funny as hell in private, suffers from more than her fair share of acute social anxiety. If she is placed in the vicinity of anyone that she has not known for her ENTIRE life she immediately retreats into herself, clutches onto my neck, and acts as if the world will end should this/these strange people so much as glance in her direction.
I always tell our guests, or any newish people who come near her, that it's best to avoid eye contact for at least one full hour and for GOD'S SAKE do NOT speak directly to her. Truly it's best to pretend as if she does not exist, until she's ready to come to you. This might take an hour, or it might take 3 days. Deal. With. It.
Last month, my employer had a company-wide children's Christmas party. It was technically for kids a little older than Bella, but they rented out an entire amusement park, and had gifts and of course, the Big Guy himself would be there, posing for pictures with the kids that would tolerate them. I so wanted her to go and though I didn't expect that she'd actually sit on his knee for a photo, this year she knows who Santa is and I secretly hoped that she'd be so awed in his presence that I could sneak her up there for a quick snap before all hell broke loose.
Well, hell broke loose at our house before we even left for the party. It started too late and her nap schedule was off and yadda yadda yadda a major meltdown/tantrum ensued. Plug was pulled on the mission and I resigned myself to another Santaless Christmas. Unlike last year, I was actually really disappointed this time around. I felt like she would have had a really good time at the party and even if she didn't get a photo with Santa, she would have loved to see him and to run around the park with the other little elves from the office.
Imagine my delight then when I realized that we'd get another chance!
Yesterday morning Bella's daycare had their annual Christmas sing-a-long. I think it used to be an actual concert until the caregivers realized that they were pretty much the only people doing any singing, while the all kids cried or stood frozen in stage-frightened silence.
The sing-a-long was fun, or would have been if it weren't for my anxiety-riddled child clinging to my neck and chest so tightly that I'm covered in claw marks today. There were moments, during her very favourite songs (Twinkle, Twinkle and Jingle Bells), where she loosed her grip on my throat a little and sang along, and in those moments I died and went to heaven. I'll never survive an actual school choir performance. Never.
But then, near the end of our sing-a-long, a tremor of excitement rippled through the room. A tremor that could only be caused by one man... that's right... tapping at the window with his candy cane cane and a full-on teen-aged, angst-ridden elf at his side. Santa. The kids went off like tweens at a Jonas Brothers concert, and my Bella? Oh my sweet, sweet little Bella. She looked up at me and took my cheeks in her little hands. Her eyes were wide as saucers and little body was literally reverberating with the sheer amazement of it all as she looked right into my eyes and whispered, "Mommy, it's Santa Clause." (Note, there's a video coming but I don't have time to upload it right now).
Of course I cried. I couldn't contain it. It was the magic of Christmas. The way that it should be. The pure, unadulterated, unspoiled, unrestrained joy of a child seeing Santa for the first time and not just believing it was him, but knowing it was him. It was a moment that I will remember and cherish for the rest of time.
Of course, Santa and his elf settled into pose with the children for pictures. Most kids were dragged over there against their will kicking and screaming all the way. The protector in me reared her head yet again and though I asked Bella several times if she wanted to go sit with Santa, she answered no each time and I didn't press the issue. She was happyish to watch from a distance, in the safety of my arms, as other kids sat on his knee for photos. Finally, once almost all the kids had their turns, I said to her, "Last chance Kiddo, do you want to go and see Santa?" And she, leaned into to me and in her breathy little voice said, "Yes."
So over we went, Cairn standing by with the camera at the ready. I stood with her for a minute or so while we said hi to Santa and she gave him a high five (super-cute) and then we went for it. Attempt one went something like this. I sat her down on his jolly old knee. She lasted a quarter of a section before she launched herself up into the air as if his leg was composed entirely of red hot coals, screaming and flailing all the while. It was quite the feat of strength and acrobatics, actually:
I think attempt number two wraps up this holiday post about as perfectly as anything ever could. It speaks volumes about how sometimes we think we want things for our kids, we think it's going to make the season special, or memorable, we think we're forging lifelong family traditions. But really? For the kids a chorus of jingle bells and that first glance of Santa Clause can make all their dreams come true. The rest of it? The dresses and the shopping and the pictures taken on Santa's knee? Well that stuff is mostly for us. And that's okay! We deserve to be happy too.
From my crazy little family to yours - a heartfelt Happy Holidays.
Friday, December 04, 2009
Happy Birthday to You: 22 Months Old
Dear Anabella.
It's probably because of that protective hormone that makes mothers forget all about the horrors of labour and the newborn months 1 - 3 so that they will continue to reproduce and the world will not fall into barren ruins, but I am almost willing to say that your 22nd month has been one of our most challenging months yet.
It's difficult to explain exactly why this is, accept to say that you are developing quickly into exactly the kind of person I want you to be: independent, intelligent, hilarious... and it's killing me!
You've become tremendously independent this month preferring to feed yourself or dress yourself without help and choosing to walk places rather than have me carry you or push you in the stroller. If anything, you are adopting these habits quite late compared to most babies, and given that up 'til now you've preferred to be waited on and lugged about, you'd think I'd be thrilled at this new found ambition.
The thing is though? Not always that helpful.
For instance when you feed yourself yogurt and blueberries in the morning, it takes me twice as long to clean you and your high chair up before we can leave for daycare. Sometimes it requires a complete outfit change by the time you are done.
And now that you like to walk yourself into daycare, you'd think I'd be thrilled! No more dirty shoes brushing up on my dress coat. No more juggling gym bag and daycare stuff, plus a 30 lbs child and trying to open doors and get you inside.
The problem here? You are SLOW. You are as slow as a one-legged turtle. With a brick tied to his leg. You take these ity bitty shuffle steps and I swear you are practically going backwards and you look at me and laugh because you know you're being a brat but you also know that it's funny as hell and that I can't help but laugh with you! Do I dare try to pick you up to get you in before I miss my bus? OH NO. Because I am afraid of you and your explosive tantrums. They come on like a tsunami in the mornings - not a moment of notice and BAM! you've wiped out an entire village with your wrath.
There are other things that have made this a challenging month. You were sick with Roseola just after Halloween. There was the H1N1 madness to contend with (you got both your shots this month and while you weren't too happy about it, you weren't to awful about it either). It's getting colder, despite being blessed with an amazingly warm November, but you refuse to wear mittens or boots. You won't even let us put your blanket on you in the stroller anymore.
I could continue this list, it goes on and on, each little thing more bizarre and unexplainable that the next. Like why don't you like towels? Why to you insist on drying off after a bath like a little puppy dog, running naked and wet around the room? But you know what? I don't want to talk about all the things that made month 22 a challenge. I can't possibly complain about these little idiosyncrasies that make you so innately you. Because the fact remains (and I suspect it always will) that to me you are just amazingly, ridiculously, immaculately perfect.
And also, if I complain about your behaviour now, what will I have left when you turn fifteen? Just look at you... tell me this look isn't coming back to haunt me in your early teens:
Or this one:
Therefore, rather than whine for things I have no right to whine about, I give you 10 Reasons I Absolutely Loved Month 22:
1. "I love you Mommy." While you've been repeating this for a few months now, this month you started saying it without being prompted? Hello! Pinnacle of motherhood. Check.
2. Speaking in the first person. For some time now it's been all about, "Bella's bottle." "Bella's Nana." "Bella's toys." All of a sudden, and completely out of nowhere, this month you started to say, "I." One of the cutest examples is "I can DO it." But you also gave me a doozy the other day when you woke up early and started calling me from your bed. You started out like normal with the basic, "Mommy? MOMMY? Mommmeeeee?" but you quickly realized that I was going to ignore you and try to steal a few more minutes of sleep so you went silent for a moment (I can only assume you were plotting) and then in the sweetest voice ever you called out to me with, "I need you Mommy." Um? I'm SCREWED. At 22 months old you have already learned the one phrase that I will never, ever be able to ignore.
3. The letter L. Suddenly you can insert into words where you never could before. You used to say "Pease!" and now you say, "PuhLease." You used to say, "Bankie" and now you say, "BahLanket." It's freakin' adorable because you over-pronounce the "L" sound now, as if you're making up for lost time.
4. You're funny and you know it. You've always been funny in your own way. A quiet, smart kind of funny that probably most people wouldn't notice. But I'm your mom and so I know. Remember that. I'll always know. Suddenly you're turning into a little ham. You'll do something really funny and say to me, "I silly, Mommy. I SILLY."
5. "Some mo'Wah." For months now you've been saying, "mo'" when you want more. "Mo'" was actually one of your very first words, you signed it for a long time, along with simple works like milk and help. But as soon as you started to speak, you gave up the sign and started saying "Mo'." "Mo' milk." "Mo' tickles." "Mo' bubbles." Suddenly this month you've changed it to, "Some mo'Wah." Essentially you have adopted a strong southern accent.
6. Little Miss Bossy. You know what you want and you're not afraid to make other people do it for you. You boss around Moet like crazy. "Moet, in your bed!" And me like crazy, "Mommy DO IT." I love it because I want you to grow up knowing that if you don't ask for what you want, you'll never get it.
7. Your teeth. You finally have a full set, minus your 2 year molars (not looking forward to those). They are beautiful. You are so beautiful.
8. That Saturday morning a couple of weeks ago that you came to my bed at 7a.m. and after you finished a bottle of milk the two of us fell back to sleep, snuggled together, until 9:30a.m. Need I say more?
9. Your brain and how it totally works. Sometimes even more than I give it credit for. One morning this month I was dressing you in a track suit and so I pulled out a t-shirt that you haven't worn in a couple of months so that you could use it as an undershirt. You looked at the shirt, which you hadn't seen since early fall, and said to me, "Uncle Philip's shirt." And you were right. It was a gift from your Uncle Philip, who you also haven't seen for a couple of month. Memory. Recognition. Comprehension. HOLY CRAP.
10. Kisses and snuggles and hugs. Oh my. While you've always been decent at giving up smooches and hugs on demand, albeit often begrudgingly, this month you started doling them out on your own terms. Like when I come home from work, usually at least half an hour after you and Daddy get home, and you'll run to the top of the stairs and call to me. "Hi Mommy!" Then, when I get up the stairs there you are, smiling, arms outstretched, waiting for me to scoop you up and you'll pull back just a little to you can look into my eyes, and then smiling, you'll lean in and kiss me gently on my mouth. I don't think that anything in my life has ever made me more joyful.
I love you,
Mommy
It's probably because of that protective hormone that makes mothers forget all about the horrors of labour and the newborn months 1 - 3 so that they will continue to reproduce and the world will not fall into barren ruins, but I am almost willing to say that your 22nd month has been one of our most challenging months yet.
It's difficult to explain exactly why this is, accept to say that you are developing quickly into exactly the kind of person I want you to be: independent, intelligent, hilarious... and it's killing me!
You've become tremendously independent this month preferring to feed yourself or dress yourself without help and choosing to walk places rather than have me carry you or push you in the stroller. If anything, you are adopting these habits quite late compared to most babies, and given that up 'til now you've preferred to be waited on and lugged about, you'd think I'd be thrilled at this new found ambition.
The thing is though? Not always that helpful.
For instance when you feed yourself yogurt and blueberries in the morning, it takes me twice as long to clean you and your high chair up before we can leave for daycare. Sometimes it requires a complete outfit change by the time you are done.
And now that you like to walk yourself into daycare, you'd think I'd be thrilled! No more dirty shoes brushing up on my dress coat. No more juggling gym bag and daycare stuff, plus a 30 lbs child and trying to open doors and get you inside.
The problem here? You are SLOW. You are as slow as a one-legged turtle. With a brick tied to his leg. You take these ity bitty shuffle steps and I swear you are practically going backwards and you look at me and laugh because you know you're being a brat but you also know that it's funny as hell and that I can't help but laugh with you! Do I dare try to pick you up to get you in before I miss my bus? OH NO. Because I am afraid of you and your explosive tantrums. They come on like a tsunami in the mornings - not a moment of notice and BAM! you've wiped out an entire village with your wrath.
There are other things that have made this a challenging month. You were sick with Roseola just after Halloween. There was the H1N1 madness to contend with (you got both your shots this month and while you weren't too happy about it, you weren't to awful about it either). It's getting colder, despite being blessed with an amazingly warm November, but you refuse to wear mittens or boots. You won't even let us put your blanket on you in the stroller anymore.
I could continue this list, it goes on and on, each little thing more bizarre and unexplainable that the next. Like why don't you like towels? Why to you insist on drying off after a bath like a little puppy dog, running naked and wet around the room? But you know what? I don't want to talk about all the things that made month 22 a challenge. I can't possibly complain about these little idiosyncrasies that make you so innately you. Because the fact remains (and I suspect it always will) that to me you are just amazingly, ridiculously, immaculately perfect.
And also, if I complain about your behaviour now, what will I have left when you turn fifteen? Just look at you... tell me this look isn't coming back to haunt me in your early teens:
Or this one:
Therefore, rather than whine for things I have no right to whine about, I give you 10 Reasons I Absolutely Loved Month 22:
1. "I love you Mommy." While you've been repeating this for a few months now, this month you started saying it without being prompted? Hello! Pinnacle of motherhood. Check.
2. Speaking in the first person. For some time now it's been all about, "Bella's bottle." "Bella's Nana." "Bella's toys." All of a sudden, and completely out of nowhere, this month you started to say, "I." One of the cutest examples is "I can DO it." But you also gave me a doozy the other day when you woke up early and started calling me from your bed. You started out like normal with the basic, "Mommy? MOMMY? Mommmeeeee?" but you quickly realized that I was going to ignore you and try to steal a few more minutes of sleep so you went silent for a moment (I can only assume you were plotting) and then in the sweetest voice ever you called out to me with, "I need you Mommy." Um? I'm SCREWED. At 22 months old you have already learned the one phrase that I will never, ever be able to ignore.
3. The letter L. Suddenly you can insert into words where you never could before. You used to say "Pease!" and now you say, "PuhLease." You used to say, "Bankie" and now you say, "BahLanket." It's freakin' adorable because you over-pronounce the "L" sound now, as if you're making up for lost time.
4. You're funny and you know it. You've always been funny in your own way. A quiet, smart kind of funny that probably most people wouldn't notice. But I'm your mom and so I know. Remember that. I'll always know. Suddenly you're turning into a little ham. You'll do something really funny and say to me, "I silly, Mommy. I SILLY."
5. "Some mo'Wah." For months now you've been saying, "mo'" when you want more. "Mo'" was actually one of your very first words, you signed it for a long time, along with simple works like milk and help. But as soon as you started to speak, you gave up the sign and started saying "Mo'." "Mo' milk." "Mo' tickles." "Mo' bubbles." Suddenly this month you've changed it to, "Some mo'Wah." Essentially you have adopted a strong southern accent.
6. Little Miss Bossy. You know what you want and you're not afraid to make other people do it for you. You boss around Moet like crazy. "Moet, in your bed!" And me like crazy, "Mommy DO IT." I love it because I want you to grow up knowing that if you don't ask for what you want, you'll never get it.
7. Your teeth. You finally have a full set, minus your 2 year molars (not looking forward to those). They are beautiful. You are so beautiful.
8. That Saturday morning a couple of weeks ago that you came to my bed at 7a.m. and after you finished a bottle of milk the two of us fell back to sleep, snuggled together, until 9:30a.m. Need I say more?
9. Your brain and how it totally works. Sometimes even more than I give it credit for. One morning this month I was dressing you in a track suit and so I pulled out a t-shirt that you haven't worn in a couple of months so that you could use it as an undershirt. You looked at the shirt, which you hadn't seen since early fall, and said to me, "Uncle Philip's shirt." And you were right. It was a gift from your Uncle Philip, who you also haven't seen for a couple of month. Memory. Recognition. Comprehension. HOLY CRAP.
10. Kisses and snuggles and hugs. Oh my. While you've always been decent at giving up smooches and hugs on demand, albeit often begrudgingly, this month you started doling them out on your own terms. Like when I come home from work, usually at least half an hour after you and Daddy get home, and you'll run to the top of the stairs and call to me. "Hi Mommy!" Then, when I get up the stairs there you are, smiling, arms outstretched, waiting for me to scoop you up and you'll pull back just a little to you can look into my eyes, and then smiling, you'll lean in and kiss me gently on my mouth. I don't think that anything in my life has ever made me more joyful.
I love you,Mommy
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Tiny Dancer
Or, as I like to call your Halloween costume this year: Bellarina. And could you have possibly been prettier? Biased or not, I'm thinking no.
Happy Birthday To You: 21 Months Old
Dear Anabella,
Last weekend you turned 21 months old. As per usual I am stunned by this amazing feat of amazingness. Every time the 30th of the month rolls around again, it hits me like a freight train, I HAVE A CHILD AND SHE IS XX MONTHS OLD. Just so happens that this month it's 21. Could be 25 years and I'd probably feel the same degree of shock and awe.
I have a million and one stories that I could tell about the crazy things you've done this month. The 200,000 ways you've made me laugh out loud. Or, I could list off all the accomplishments and milestones that you've crossed off the grand list of things that happen when you transform from an embryo into an actual walking talking human child . But I think this month I'll spare you the rambling, gushing, mother-is-so-proud speech. Instead, I'm going to let you do what you have learned to do best this month, speak for yourself.
Don't judge me for the weird things I have you repeat. I swear that they are all words and phrases that you say on your own accord all the time (including "Mommy's coffee," which this entire family knows is the single most important thing that happens to Mommy each day). But these are a selection of my favourite words and a) I wanted them recorded so I'll always have that sweet little baby voice to go back to when you are 16 years old and mumbling obscenities at me under your breath and b) I needed something to do in order to distract you from throwing your entire lunch to the dog.
In fact, these vids were recorded at the beginning of October. By now you are saying so many more words and phrases and singing so many songs that I'd be hard pressed to get a fraction of them on film. Besides, though you belt out songs and chatter up a storm on the regular, as soon as the camera appears you clam up and get a little shy and weird. This behaviour is not going to help you bring home the big bucks as a world famous movie/pop star. I'm just saying.
So concludes another busy month. All of the growing and talking and singing and SCREAMING "NO NO NO" at the top of your lungs and chasing Moet and not brushing your teeth EVER and throwing all your Cheerios on the ground and jumping but only getting one leg off the ground and having your picture taken 376,080 times is clearly exhausting stuff. As evidenced by this happening during your 21 month photo shoot:
Guess that's a wrap.
I love you,
Mommy
Last weekend you turned 21 months old. As per usual I am stunned by this amazing feat of amazingness. Every time the 30th of the month rolls around again, it hits me like a freight train, I HAVE A CHILD AND SHE IS XX MONTHS OLD. Just so happens that this month it's 21. Could be 25 years and I'd probably feel the same degree of shock and awe.
I have a million and one stories that I could tell about the crazy things you've done this month. The 200,000 ways you've made me laugh out loud. Or, I could list off all the accomplishments and milestones that you've crossed off the grand list of things that happen when you transform from an embryo into an actual walking talking human child . But I think this month I'll spare you the rambling, gushing, mother-is-so-proud speech. Instead, I'm going to let you do what you have learned to do best this month, speak for yourself.
Don't judge me for the weird things I have you repeat. I swear that they are all words and phrases that you say on your own accord all the time (including "Mommy's coffee," which this entire family knows is the single most important thing that happens to Mommy each day). But these are a selection of my favourite words and a) I wanted them recorded so I'll always have that sweet little baby voice to go back to when you are 16 years old and mumbling obscenities at me under your breath and b) I needed something to do in order to distract you from throwing your entire lunch to the dog.
In fact, these vids were recorded at the beginning of October. By now you are saying so many more words and phrases and singing so many songs that I'd be hard pressed to get a fraction of them on film. Besides, though you belt out songs and chatter up a storm on the regular, as soon as the camera appears you clam up and get a little shy and weird. This behaviour is not going to help you bring home the big bucks as a world famous movie/pop star. I'm just saying.
So concludes another busy month. All of the growing and talking and singing and SCREAMING "NO NO NO" at the top of your lungs and chasing Moet and not brushing your teeth EVER and throwing all your Cheerios on the ground and jumping but only getting one leg off the ground and having your picture taken 376,080 times is clearly exhausting stuff. As evidenced by this happening during your 21 month photo shoot:
Guess that's a wrap.
I love you,
Mommy
Friday, October 02, 2009
Happy Birthday to You: 20 Months Old
Dear Anabella,
This week you turned 20 months old.
Sigh. I remember my 20's. They were fantastic.
Second, school starts! Even though I am no longer in school, haven't been for a long, long, long (you get the point) time, I still feel a little nostalgic thrill every year when school begins. I love the feeling of all the university students pouring back into the city and walking around U of T campus with their new clothes and glossy books. I love watching the teenagers on the bus, gossiping or sulking, on their way to class.
September is pretty close to perfect. But for the last couple of years we have had some tough times in this particular month. In 2007, when you were still safely tucked away in my belly, there was a terrible accident with Momo and we nearly lost him. Then last year, the unthinkable happened to a family that we know. It stopped me in my tracks for a while and still does, when I think of them, even now. So this year when September rolled around I found that I entered it not with my usual giddy sense of excitement and joy but instead with a sense of foreboding doom.
But then, just when I feel like I've gotten lost in the fog, there shines my light. My impish, smiling, squishable light. I just need to watch you for a minute, just being you, and I realize why I get so anxious about the possibility of something terrible happening. It's because of the love. Every day I love you more. And the more that I love you the more I stand to lose. It's that simple. It's the risk that we all take when we decide to become parents.
You are 20 months old this week. One day you will be 20 years old. Can my heart hold 20 years worth of ever increasing love? Can it hold 60? I have to assume that it can because if there is one truth, one undeniable fact that I can share with you it is this, every second of every minute of every hour that goes by I love you more and more and more. And somehow my heart just expands.
If there is one thing that can make September -- that beautiful, complicated month -- even more perfect that it already is, Anabella, it's you.
I love you.
Mommy
Sigh. I remember my 20's. They were fantastic.
September is one of my favourite months of the year for many reasons. First of all, it's my birthday month, though this one has crawled pretty far down the reasons-I-love-September ladder since I grew out of my aforementioned 20's.
Third, the weather. September is the new summer. Though I was born on the last official day of summer, I consider myself entirely a summer baby. I LOVE summer, the hotter the better. For the last few years September has been the sunniest, warmest, most beautiful summer month. We always spend Labour Day weekend and some of the following week in Ipperwash, soaking up those final summer rays on that most incredible beach -- a beach that clears out after holiday Monday and becomes all ours and ours alone. It is the definition of happiness for me to be on that beach with nobody else but the people I love most in the entire world.
Like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like everything is too perfect. Too beautiful. Too happy. I find myself starting to seek out all the terrible things that could happen. To ready myself for them. Steel myself against them. Prepare.
You are 20 months old this week. One day you will be 20 years old. Can my heart hold 20 years worth of ever increasing love? Can it hold 60? I have to assume that it can because if there is one truth, one undeniable fact that I can share with you it is this, every second of every minute of every hour that goes by I love you more and more and more. And somehow my heart just expands.
I love you.
Mommy
Monday, September 14, 2009
Pictures of You
Anybody out there ever had passport photos taken of their toddler? Can I borrow your ear for a moment and tell you that it is a NIGHTMARE to get a toddler to sit still for a fucking passport photo?
How about trying to do it at the local ghetto mall on a Sunday afternoon... with a hangover?
So here's the thing, I thought she'd just sit on the chair, stare blankly at the stranger with the flashing camera like she usually does when she's bored with my incessent photo-taken habit, and we'd be out of there after a few clicks.
WRONG.
They had to take about 2000 photos of Bella. Do you know what’s involved here in this passport photo business? Let me tell you. The baby can’t be smiling, crying, talking, moving or looking anywhere but directly at the camera lens. Their mouths must be closed, but not so closed that you can’t see the natural shape of their lower face. There can’t be any shadows behind their curly little heads of flouncy hair. You can’t see anything in the photo but their head and shoulders. This includes their arms and hands which means they need to keep them neatly at their sides while the photo is taken. They can’t be wearing white.
OH BUT WAIT… even if you finally get the shot, the one that fulfills all of the IMPOSSIBLE criteria, and causes the entire shop and the small crowd that’s gathered in the mall to watch this circus occur to break into loud applause, they will still go into the back room to look closer at the perfect picture and then come back out, head hung low with a sheepish grin, and tell you that the perfect shot that they thought they had will not work after all because HER LIPS ARE TOO SHINY.
I kid you not. Her juicy, perfect, glistening baby lips were too shiny. We had to de-shine our daughter’s lips.
But we finally got the shot. She's looking ever so slightly above the camera lens at the dangling set of keys that we were using to try to jingle-jangle her into some kind of a passport-photo-worthy trance. They assure me that they will reshoot the photo for free should it not be accepted. What they do not understand is that if it is not accepted I am going to go postal on the asses of everyone involved in the process. There won't be much need for international travel after that.
My own passport photo is truly hilarious because the expression on my face is 100 per cent indicative of the mood I was in while trying to suvive this particular parenting right of passage.
Survived it. And let me tell you something? We are going to be TRAVELLING OUR ASSES off now even if it puts us into a hole of debt so deep that we'll never again see the light of creditless day.
How about trying to do it at the local ghetto mall on a Sunday afternoon... with a hangover?
So here's the thing, I thought she'd just sit on the chair, stare blankly at the stranger with the flashing camera like she usually does when she's bored with my incessent photo-taken habit, and we'd be out of there after a few clicks.
WRONG.
They had to take about 2000 photos of Bella. Do you know what’s involved here in this passport photo business? Let me tell you. The baby can’t be smiling, crying, talking, moving or looking anywhere but directly at the camera lens. Their mouths must be closed, but not so closed that you can’t see the natural shape of their lower face. There can’t be any shadows behind their curly little heads of flouncy hair. You can’t see anything in the photo but their head and shoulders. This includes their arms and hands which means they need to keep them neatly at their sides while the photo is taken. They can’t be wearing white.
OH BUT WAIT… even if you finally get the shot, the one that fulfills all of the IMPOSSIBLE criteria, and causes the entire shop and the small crowd that’s gathered in the mall to watch this circus occur to break into loud applause, they will still go into the back room to look closer at the perfect picture and then come back out, head hung low with a sheepish grin, and tell you that the perfect shot that they thought they had will not work after all because HER LIPS ARE TOO SHINY.
I kid you not. Her juicy, perfect, glistening baby lips were too shiny. We had to de-shine our daughter’s lips.
But we finally got the shot. She's looking ever so slightly above the camera lens at the dangling set of keys that we were using to try to jingle-jangle her into some kind of a passport-photo-worthy trance. They assure me that they will reshoot the photo for free should it not be accepted. What they do not understand is that if it is not accepted I am going to go postal on the asses of everyone involved in the process. There won't be much need for international travel after that.
My own passport photo is truly hilarious because the expression on my face is 100 per cent indicative of the mood I was in while trying to suvive this particular parenting right of passage.
Survived it. And let me tell you something? We are going to be TRAVELLING OUR ASSES off now even if it puts us into a hole of debt so deep that we'll never again see the light of creditless day.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Happy Birthday to You: 19 Months Old
Dear Anabella,
A week ago you turned 19 months old. And this month I can officially say that you are no longer my baby and are officially my toddler. TODDLER. You toddle. You are in the toddler room at daycare. You talk. In sentences. Small sentences, but still! Talking. Like a human-being. And all of it, all of it is BLOWING MY MIND.
I think for some reason, deep in the back of my brain, I had this notion that maybe you were content to just stay my baby forever. That I'd be carrying you around and listening to your incoherent, yet incredibly endearing, coos and gurgles for the rest of time. Like maybe I'd be taking you to college, strapped firmly and securely in your car seat, wheeling you to classes in your stroller and listening with glee as you met your dorm mate by grabbing a fist full of her hair and enthusiastically saying, "Baaabababa," with a slobbery toothless smile. Guess what? NOT SO.
In fact you are going to grow up to be a grown up person who is growing and continues to grow. I recognize that this is the preferred course of action and that it's not really desireable to have a college student who is still a baby. So why did it take me 19 months to grasp this concept? I blame hormones.
So many fun things to report on this month, but first there's this. We transitioned you to the toddler room at your daycare this month. AND IT SUCKED. For two full weeks it sucked so badly. You clung to me and you screamed for me when I left you in the mornings and you were out of sorts and cranky when we brought you home at night. It lasted two weeks and I cried every day when I left you there and I cried most of the way to work and I cried at work. It is pretty safe to assume that I did more crying than you. Much more.
I should note that about a week and a half into your transition, you got bit on the face by another baby. And I mean BITTEN. And it set you back a few days. Not surprising really, just look what the little cannibal did to your face:
Then, we reached the two week mark and I dropped you off one morning, and instead of screaming and clinging to my legs, you waved at your friends, said, "Hi Duncan!" and walked into your new room without so much as a backward glance at me. And we all applauded and cheered for you! And then you know what happened? I cried again. Shocking.
You have settled in beautifully now and I know that you are happy there. I know that it's so good for you to be there and I am incredibly, tremendously, enormously proud of you.
Your move to the toddler room also proved to be exactly what you needed to encourage you to become a full time walker. You're on the move, Child! It's still a bit shocking for me to see you just stand up and walk, this may be another concept that's difficult for me to grasp. Do not be surprised if you are 16 years old and I suddenly turn to you and say, "Bella, did you just WALK OVER HERE?" I'm slow on the pick up. Deal with it.
As amazed as I am by this walking business, hands down, bar-none, the most amazing, entertaining, and mind boggling thing you do right now is talk. You just say stuff. Stuff that is actually in ENGLISH and makes sense. Stuff like, "Peees" (please) and "Taaake Oouuu!" (thank you). And sentences like, "More pips, peees" (more chips, please) and "No! Momo! No!"
I can listen to your words five zillion times and never, ever tire of hearing them. There really isn't much that you can't say now, as long as we remain open to interpretation. Among my favourites this month: Bubbles! Pickles! Anabella (which, by the way, you like to say in a strange Frankenstein-like voice)! And instead of Mama, you now say, "MummEEE?" Just like that, like it's a question every time. And every time I hear it? You guessed it. My heart explodes.
You can count to three. You can fetch stuff and bring it to me. You can brush your teeth (though you hate it) and you can distinguish between the pink hat and the orange hat. You love shoes. No wait, more emphasis required with this one, YOU LOVE SHOES. You will sit and play with a pair of shoes for an hour. I'm not kidding. You love Moet. You can throw and kick a ball. I'm turning 34 in a few days and I still can't do that very well. I hate to use the term 'soccer prodigy' so early on, but I will because do you know how much money a professional athlete can bring in?!
This is all a long winded way of saying, Anabella, I love all of you. I love who you are becoming. I love watching you grow. I love anticipating what might come tomorrow. I love how every day with you is like a little gift, just waiting to be unwrapped.
I love you,
Mommy
A week ago you turned 19 months old. And this month I can officially say that you are no longer my baby and are officially my toddler. TODDLER. You toddle. You are in the toddler room at daycare. You talk. In sentences. Small sentences, but still! Talking. Like a human-being. And all of it, all of it is BLOWING MY MIND.
I think for some reason, deep in the back of my brain, I had this notion that maybe you were content to just stay my baby forever. That I'd be carrying you around and listening to your incoherent, yet incredibly endearing, coos and gurgles for the rest of time. Like maybe I'd be taking you to college, strapped firmly and securely in your car seat, wheeling you to classes in your stroller and listening with glee as you met your dorm mate by grabbing a fist full of her hair and enthusiastically saying, "Baaabababa," with a slobbery toothless smile. Guess what? NOT SO.
In fact you are going to grow up to be a grown up person who is growing and continues to grow. I recognize that this is the preferred course of action and that it's not really desireable to have a college student who is still a baby. So why did it take me 19 months to grasp this concept? I blame hormones.
So many fun things to report on this month, but first there's this. We transitioned you to the toddler room at your daycare this month. AND IT SUCKED. For two full weeks it sucked so badly. You clung to me and you screamed for me when I left you in the mornings and you were out of sorts and cranky when we brought you home at night. It lasted two weeks and I cried every day when I left you there and I cried most of the way to work and I cried at work. It is pretty safe to assume that I did more crying than you. Much more.
I should note that about a week and a half into your transition, you got bit on the face by another baby. And I mean BITTEN. And it set you back a few days. Not surprising really, just look what the little cannibal did to your face:
Then, we reached the two week mark and I dropped you off one morning, and instead of screaming and clinging to my legs, you waved at your friends, said, "Hi Duncan!" and walked into your new room without so much as a backward glance at me. And we all applauded and cheered for you! And then you know what happened? I cried again. Shocking.
You have settled in beautifully now and I know that you are happy there. I know that it's so good for you to be there and I am incredibly, tremendously, enormously proud of you.
Your move to the toddler room also proved to be exactly what you needed to encourage you to become a full time walker. You're on the move, Child! It's still a bit shocking for me to see you just stand up and walk, this may be another concept that's difficult for me to grasp. Do not be surprised if you are 16 years old and I suddenly turn to you and say, "Bella, did you just WALK OVER HERE?" I'm slow on the pick up. Deal with it.
As amazed as I am by this walking business, hands down, bar-none, the most amazing, entertaining, and mind boggling thing you do right now is talk. You just say stuff. Stuff that is actually in ENGLISH and makes sense. Stuff like, "Peees" (please) and "Taaake Oouuu!" (thank you). And sentences like, "More pips, peees" (more chips, please) and "No! Momo! No!"
I can listen to your words five zillion times and never, ever tire of hearing them. There really isn't much that you can't say now, as long as we remain open to interpretation. Among my favourites this month: Bubbles! Pickles! Anabella (which, by the way, you like to say in a strange Frankenstein-like voice)! And instead of Mama, you now say, "MummEEE?" Just like that, like it's a question every time. And every time I hear it? You guessed it. My heart explodes.
You can count to three. You can fetch stuff and bring it to me. You can brush your teeth (though you hate it) and you can distinguish between the pink hat and the orange hat. You love shoes. No wait, more emphasis required with this one, YOU LOVE SHOES. You will sit and play with a pair of shoes for an hour. I'm not kidding. You love Moet. You can throw and kick a ball. I'm turning 34 in a few days and I still can't do that very well. I hate to use the term 'soccer prodigy' so early on, but I will because do you know how much money a professional athlete can bring in?!
This is all a long winded way of saying, Anabella, I love all of you. I love who you are becoming. I love watching you grow. I love anticipating what might come tomorrow. I love how every day with you is like a little gift, just waiting to be unwrapped.
I love you,
Mommy
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