Thursday, April 18, 2013

Dear Mia: Part 12

Oh Mia, you turned 2 three weeks ago, and I just now have a moment to sit and write to you. Life is moving so so fast right now, and I don't know if I can do the past several months justice during one single naptime, but I'll try! You are a handful right now. You are funny and whip-smart and stubborn and willful and testing me at every turn. 

Your birthday was so much fun. You celebrated first in Buffalo with dad's family (and it was also AJ's first birthday), then came your real birthday, then we had a party at our house with my side of the family and some friends. You were must excited about CAKE. You did not care about anything else (well, you were also insistent that we wear party hats). You shouted to anyone within distance that it was your birthday and you would have CAKE! Once you caught on to the present aspect of the holiday you were pretty excited about that too.

Your birthday overshadowed Easter, but you also enjoyed hunting for eggs and eating the treats inside. 

About a month ago our neighbor Angie cut your hair. It was beginning to resemble a mullet, and I'm a little upset with myself that I let it get as bad as it did, because it looks so cute now. It is thicker and the color of a wheat field, and now you look like such a little KID.

Some other highlights of recent months:
Whenever you are freed from the confines of your clothing you run through the house shouting, "Nakey booty on the loose!"

You still call the hood of your coat a "neighborhood." You pronounce "orange" "or-shan" Call the cats "Lessa" (Tesla, although you've been pronouncing it correctly recently) and "Tonrad" (Conrad). Paper towels are "wiper towels." Piano is "pinano." You pronounce "nine," like "noin."

You call inanimate objects "fella." You'll pick up your cup of milk and carry if off with you saying, "Come on, fella."

Lately when I tell you that you can't do something you replay with, "No, but I can try." I like your can-do attitude, but no, there are some things I just won't let you do.

You love to pretend. One of your favorite things to do is play with you little kitchen and all of your stuffed animals. You pretend to cook for them and feed them. You also love to put diapers on them and dress them up. You frequently pretend we're having a birthday party at which we wear pretend hats and blow out pretend candles on a pretend cake. Or you pretend we are at the beach looking for sea shells and building sand castles.

You are so so sweet, giving hugs at any moment. When I cry you pat me and say "it's okay, mommy, it's okay" (or in one heartbreaking instance you burst into tears yourself). You declare your love for things loudly and passionately. You declare your love for anything and everything without hesitation... except your parents. You chase Conrad around the house and then sigh longingly and say, "I love him." (Sometimes you add "He is my best friend.") You randomly declare your love for Uncle Timmy or Uncle Brian. But rarely do you tell me you love me without prompting. When you do I stop whatever I'm doing to take it in.

You like to rhyme, often singing The Name Game Song ("Mia fia bo bia, etc.) or just rhyming silly things, like calling me "Mommy Dommy."

We have actual conversations now. You have thoughts completely independent from me or whatever is going on immediately around you. You tell stories. You recall events that happened months ago or explain to me what happened on an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. The other day you were drawing with sidewalk chalk and you told me you were drawing a heart. Then you said, "This heart fell down and got hurt. I will draw another one to make him feel better." I was blown away at that exchange on so many levels. The compassion, the creativity, the fact that POOF, you invented this story out of thin air!

I always hesitate to say it, because I know every parent thinks their child is a brilliant, unique snowflake, but Mia you are SMART. You just are. I don't know if I can take credit for any of it, or if it's just atoms colliding, but you blow my mind a million times a day.

We are also dealing with how to discipline you at the moment. You are a tantrum-throwing, boundary-pushing 2 year-old. It is so frustrating in the moment, but in quieter moments (like now), I can barely remember what had me so mad, so I'll just leave it here for posterity's sake, so that if I go back and read this one day I'll know you weren't the perfect angel I've conjured you up to be in my memories.

You are so very enthusiastic about life, just like your dad. And you have a big personality like him. You charm strangers and fill up a room without even realizing it. Your intent is not to capture everyone's attention, you just DO. You talk and sing and shout your excitement to anyone in earshot. You exclaim, "Mommy, I am so excited to (fill in the blank)!" often. I prefer to fly under the radar, but you don't allow it. I should probably start washing my hair more often if I'm going to be your wing woman.

When I imagine you having a sibling I always imagine you as a younger sibling. Which is next to impossible, clearly. It's probably because you are around older kids a lot with your cousins and neighbors, but its also because you are enamored with older kids in general and have next to zero interest in babies. You rarely play with your dolls. Babies basically do not exist to you unless we command you to "kiss the baby!" And you will before running off to something more important.

Hopefully this will change when you have a baby sibling of your own in just a few short months. Yes, life is about to change in a big way, my love, and I will readily admit that I am terrified. You are so perfect and fill my heart to capacity that I cannot imagine anyone taking my attention from you or my heart getting any fuller. But, I've always known that I wanted you to have a sibling. I want another child, of course, but I also think it's a great gift to be able to give you a brother or a sister, someone who will always know where you come from and (hopefully) where you are going. I can't wait to see how you change and grow with this experience.

You don't seem to have absorbed it much, although you will sometimes randomly point to my belly and say, "There's a baby in there." You have requested a brother, and wish to name him Santa, in case anyone is granting wishes. You like to give me check-ups with your pretend doctor kit and you always put the stethoscope on my belly to listen for the baby's heartbeat.

And now I'm at a total loss as to a closing here, but if I don't stop now I'll write a novel. You are amazing, that's really all there is to say. Your dad and I look at each other every day and laugh and say, "Seriously? This is our kid? How awesome is she?"