Dear Raisin,
Today you are 2 years old. Yes, you really are, even though you told Daddy last week that you're 8, and even though you refused to let us sing "Happy Birthday" to you this morning. The force of your will is mighty, but I'm afraid it's not strong enough yet to actually influence time.
The last 2 years have been nothing like I expected, and everything I ever wanted all at the same time. I am so in love with you. I love seeing the signs of the person you're becoming. As you leave babyhood behind you, you are showing us more and more glimpses of a girl who is bright, funny, fun-loving, caring, and joyful. I am excited to find out what's next for you.
You might be surprised to hear that, since lately things have been kind of difficult at our house. There is an undercurrent of change that is hard on everyone: in a few months, you'll have a new brother or sister. At the same time, you're learning to sleep in a big-girl bed and learning how to use the potty. You're finding out that you have some control over the things that happen to you, and you're trying to figure out what to do with that control. It's a lot to deal with, and I want you to know that I understand when you get frustrated.
You need to know that your Daddy and I want you to be a strong, independent woman someday. It's just that sometimes we also want you to just let us buckle you into the car seat already. That's why we sometimes get frustrated with your experiments in self-determination -- not because you shouldn't express your opinions, but because we are still used to being parents of a baby who can't make choices on her own.
We'll learn together, Squirt. Bear with me.
In the meantime, please don't grow up too fast. Don't stop giving mid-air kisses with that audible "mwah!" sound, or trying to burrow your way into my chest when you're tired or scared. Please still get excited about every puppy that passes our house. Don't become too mature for rides up and down the hallway in a laundry basket, or to run around the house with your Hello Kitty hamper upside-down over your head. You can be a big girl and Mommy's baby at the same time, OK?
Happy birthday, sweet girl. I love you.
Love, Mommy.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Raisinisms
After posting yesterday, I thought of a couple more things I meant to record here. This is more for posterity than anything else, so feel free to move on if you're not interested in the internal workings of my daughter's mind.
Her favorite foods are chicken (meaning nuggets), cheese, juice, "kepup" (ketchup), and "syrpup" (syrup).
She's figured out that in a restaurant, you tell the server what you want, and then they bring it to you. Being a toddler, however, she's not keen on the part where you have to wait between ordering and eating. We're sometimes able to distract her with crackers or crayons, but often she'll crane her neck around constantly, looking for the server. When that hapless employee does pass our table, Raisin yells, "My chicken? MY CHICKEN!"
Once we went to a small family-owned place near our house. They were understaffed and really busy, and the poor waitress kept passing our table with trays for other patrons. She started apologizing every time she walked by us, because she was followed throughout the restaurant by Raisin's indignant cries.
Hmmm. I'm sure there was more, but of course I never think of these things while I can actually post them -- always while I'm driving down the freeway. So there might be another installment to come!
Her favorite foods are chicken (meaning nuggets), cheese, juice, "kepup" (ketchup), and "syrpup" (syrup).
She's figured out that in a restaurant, you tell the server what you want, and then they bring it to you. Being a toddler, however, she's not keen on the part where you have to wait between ordering and eating. We're sometimes able to distract her with crackers or crayons, but often she'll crane her neck around constantly, looking for the server. When that hapless employee does pass our table, Raisin yells, "My chicken? MY CHICKEN!"
Once we went to a small family-owned place near our house. They were understaffed and really busy, and the poor waitress kept passing our table with trays for other patrons. She started apologizing every time she walked by us, because she was followed throughout the restaurant by Raisin's indignant cries.
Hmmm. I'm sure there was more, but of course I never think of these things while I can actually post them -- always while I'm driving down the freeway. So there might be another installment to come!
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
The Power of Positive Thinking
Lately I have often caught myself doing this whole "poor, poor, pitiful me" bit. I flatter myself that I've not inflicted it on anyone beyond my immediate family (and possibly the internet), although there's really no excuse for doing that to Raisin or DH. So, today, we try to move beyond "wah, I'm pregnant and my back hurts and my daughter is so sick and why must God mock me this way?" and try to look at the bright side of life. You know, Pollyanna. Raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens. Etc.
Really, things are better. The number of hours since either Raisin or I have vomited is steadily increasing. We're hoping to set a new record. Score!
Also, Raisin is unbearably cute despite her trials. She's graduated to the big-girl bed, which she loves. She even asks to go to bed sometimes, although she really has no intention of staying there. She just wants to visit.
Her favorite phrase, "what doing?" has become a constant in our house. Despite our best efforts, DH and I have not been able to convince her that "sleeping" is an acceptable response to this question. If she's awake enough to ask "what doing?" we had better be awake enough to provide an interesting answer.
She loves to play pretend, and she's quite the little housekeeper. She cooks excellent pretend snacks (Grandma and Grandpa are making a mini kitchen for her birthday next week), and she'll stand on a stool at our kitchen sink "washing dishes" quite happily -- sometimes for minutes at a time.
Our family's love affair with ducks continues. There are at least two pairs nesting on the pond near our house, and Raisin loves to visit them. Unfortunately, the path around the pond is designed so that you can't get really close, which leads to a lot of disappointment. She makes up for it by shouting, "HI DUCKIES! QUACK QUACK QUACK! WHAT DOING, DUCKIES?" I'm sure the neighbors love that.
She knows her colors really well, which is a big hit with the grandmas. She's also learning letters, although I think her biggest joy in the alphabet right now is just that she thinks the song is funny. Maybe not, though -- a couple of weeks ago she handed me one of the letters from her bathtub alphabet set, and said, "i!" "My kid's a genius!" I thought. She's reading letters, and she's not even two! Of course, then I handed her an "e," and she called that an "i," too. But still.
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I'm definitely feeling movement from Baby, usually at night. I had a sneezing fit the other day, and the kid most decidedly did not appreciate being jostled. The responsive kicks were as strong as some I remember from Raisin's third trimester.
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And, as a final random thought: At our big family Easter/April birthdaypalooza this weekend, my grandmother (age 79, or thereabouts) showed up with a bright pink frisbee for my uncle's dog. When we arrived, my uncle wrestled it away from the dog to show my mom. "Our mother will not tell me where she got this," he said. We all gathered around to take a closer look; it was decorated with the logo of a Minneapolis nightspot where "girls! girls! girls!" are the primary source of entertainment. We still don't know how my grandparents obtained the frisbee of questionable morality, or why such an establishment would be giving away frisbees.
I feel better now. How about you?
Really, things are better. The number of hours since either Raisin or I have vomited is steadily increasing. We're hoping to set a new record. Score!
Also, Raisin is unbearably cute despite her trials. She's graduated to the big-girl bed, which she loves. She even asks to go to bed sometimes, although she really has no intention of staying there. She just wants to visit.
Her favorite phrase, "what doing?" has become a constant in our house. Despite our best efforts, DH and I have not been able to convince her that "sleeping" is an acceptable response to this question. If she's awake enough to ask "what doing?" we had better be awake enough to provide an interesting answer.
She loves to play pretend, and she's quite the little housekeeper. She cooks excellent pretend snacks (Grandma and Grandpa are making a mini kitchen for her birthday next week), and she'll stand on a stool at our kitchen sink "washing dishes" quite happily -- sometimes for minutes at a time.
Our family's love affair with ducks continues. There are at least two pairs nesting on the pond near our house, and Raisin loves to visit them. Unfortunately, the path around the pond is designed so that you can't get really close, which leads to a lot of disappointment. She makes up for it by shouting, "HI DUCKIES! QUACK QUACK QUACK! WHAT DOING, DUCKIES?" I'm sure the neighbors love that.
She knows her colors really well, which is a big hit with the grandmas. She's also learning letters, although I think her biggest joy in the alphabet right now is just that she thinks the song is funny. Maybe not, though -- a couple of weeks ago she handed me one of the letters from her bathtub alphabet set, and said, "i!" "My kid's a genius!" I thought. She's reading letters, and she's not even two! Of course, then I handed her an "e," and she called that an "i," too. But still.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm definitely feeling movement from Baby, usually at night. I had a sneezing fit the other day, and the kid most decidedly did not appreciate being jostled. The responsive kicks were as strong as some I remember from Raisin's third trimester.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And, as a final random thought: At our big family Easter/April birthdaypalooza this weekend, my grandmother (age 79, or thereabouts) showed up with a bright pink frisbee for my uncle's dog. When we arrived, my uncle wrestled it away from the dog to show my mom. "Our mother will not tell me where she got this," he said. We all gathered around to take a closer look; it was decorated with the logo of a Minneapolis nightspot where "girls! girls! girls!" are the primary source of entertainment. We still don't know how my grandparents obtained the frisbee of questionable morality, or why such an establishment would be giving away frisbees.
I feel better now. How about you?
Thursday, April 13, 2006
The Trouble With Faith
Or, How Raisin's Mommy Lost the Last Shreds of Her Sanity in Just 5 Days.
Saturday: urgent care. Diagnosis: pinkeye. Could be viral, could be bacterial. No problem, I can handle this. Either the drops will help, or it will clear up on it's own. I believed.
Sunday: emergency room. Diagnosis: croup. This means the pinkeye is viral. Slightly scary, but doctor says we caught it early, and they give steroids that will hopefully prevent a more serious attack. Should clear up on its own after that. I believed.
Monday: at home. No new problems, so Raisin must be recovering, right? Sure.
Tuesday: at home, fever is 103. No appointments available with regular doctor, so back to urgent care. Diagnosis: secondary bacterial infection because immune system was weakened by the virus. (It seems she has a double ear infection, bronchitis, a new round of bacterial pinkeye, and possibly strep throat. $%&#.) Still, I believed in the power of the antibiotics, and it was a relief to be able to do something more concrete.
Wednesday: at home, still. Again, hoping for a day of rest so Raisin can recover. She starts throwing up, her mommy throws a tantrum. I'm running out of faith, calling the clinic in tears, moments away from insisting that SOMEONE in the medical profession had better $%&#ing FIX my child RIGHT NOW. Diagnosis: it could be a reaction to the antibiotic, but it's too soon to tell.
Then, Raisin looks over at me and says, "Mommy, what doing? I hungry." So she eats some grapes. All of a sudden, she's almost 100% back to normal. I feel like I've been run over by a truck. This parenting thing is, like, hard, dude.
Saturday: urgent care. Diagnosis: pinkeye. Could be viral, could be bacterial. No problem, I can handle this. Either the drops will help, or it will clear up on it's own. I believed.
Sunday: emergency room. Diagnosis: croup. This means the pinkeye is viral. Slightly scary, but doctor says we caught it early, and they give steroids that will hopefully prevent a more serious attack. Should clear up on its own after that. I believed.
Monday: at home. No new problems, so Raisin must be recovering, right? Sure.
Tuesday: at home, fever is 103. No appointments available with regular doctor, so back to urgent care. Diagnosis: secondary bacterial infection because immune system was weakened by the virus. (It seems she has a double ear infection, bronchitis, a new round of bacterial pinkeye, and possibly strep throat. $%&#.) Still, I believed in the power of the antibiotics, and it was a relief to be able to do something more concrete.
Wednesday: at home, still. Again, hoping for a day of rest so Raisin can recover. She starts throwing up, her mommy throws a tantrum. I'm running out of faith, calling the clinic in tears, moments away from insisting that SOMEONE in the medical profession had better $%&#ing FIX my child RIGHT NOW. Diagnosis: it could be a reaction to the antibiotic, but it's too soon to tell.
Then, Raisin looks over at me and says, "Mommy, what doing? I hungry." So she eats some grapes. All of a sudden, she's almost 100% back to normal. I feel like I've been run over by a truck. This parenting thing is, like, hard, dude.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Four Years
Today marks four years that DH and I have been married. By the numbers: four years, 1.33333333 kids. We're in our 2nd house and our 2nd and 3rd cars. We've travelled halfway around the world together, and had adventures in our own backyard.
Some people think it's romantic to say that they can't imagine their life without someone. I think that just shows a lack of imagination. I can imagine my life without my husband, and that's why I stay. No matter how furious I am that he has left his towel in a sodden heap on the bed AGAIN, I would never choose another life but this one.
DH, happy anniversary! I love you. Thank you for being so good at loving me.
Some people think it's romantic to say that they can't imagine their life without someone. I think that just shows a lack of imagination. I can imagine my life without my husband, and that's why I stay. No matter how furious I am that he has left his towel in a sodden heap on the bed AGAIN, I would never choose another life but this one.
DH, happy anniversary! I love you. Thank you for being so good at loving me.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Search Strings!
I had nothing to write about until... I checked my recent search strings. I'm a real, live blogger now, kids -- I actually have some interesting ones!
life skills class mn: I'm pretty sure I specifically said I have no skills. At all.
playb0y Brooke Shields: I don't even want to think about the kind of traffic that's gonna bring me.
Julie loves Kirby: I just said I admired the guy, OK?
raisin picture: If you're looking for pictures of my daughter, I'm very sorry that I lied to the whole internet. I'll never do it again. If you're looking for pictures of dried grapes, I'm gonna need to know why.
jamba juice pregnancy: Rock on! Just watch out for the "femme boost" -- a snotty Jamba Juice lady lectured me about ordering that one while pregnant.
life skills class mn: I'm pretty sure I specifically said I have no skills. At all.
playb0y Brooke Shields: I don't even want to think about the kind of traffic that's gonna bring me.
Julie loves Kirby: I just said I admired the guy, OK?
raisin picture: If you're looking for pictures of my daughter, I'm very sorry that I lied to the whole internet. I'll never do it again. If you're looking for pictures of dried grapes, I'm gonna need to know why.
jamba juice pregnancy: Rock on! Just watch out for the "femme boost" -- a snotty Jamba Juice lady lectured me about ordering that one while pregnant.
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