You are now 32 months old. You and your cousin, Malaya, made some big changes this month. You both moved from Utah to different states. Malaya moved to hip happenin’ Las Vegas, Nevada, and you ended up smack dab in the middle of the United States in a state called KANSAS.
(Malaya and Hannah, both two and a half years old)
People are very friendly here. Why do I know this? Because you introduce yourself to anyone and everyone within earshot of your voice. If they’re not in earshot, you just use your VERY LOUD outside voice to chat with them. You always introduce yourself saying, “Hi, I’m Hannah. This is my mommy, Emily. This is Dallin boy. He’s just a baby. This is Paris. She is my dog. She is a stinker-dog. My daddy is a real doctor for me. What’s your name?” I love how you emphasize that your daddy is a real doctor “for you.” It implies that you understand much more than I think you do. For the record, your dad is a third year medical student. He is “real doctor” in training. He certainly knows a lot, but cannot write out prescriptions yet. He most certainly is a real doctor, even if only for you.
You are one chatty little girl, and every morning, you wake up announcing very loudly, “THE SUN IS AWAKE! THE SUN IS AWAKE! DID YOU SEE MOMMY! OUT MY WINDOW! DO YOU WANT TO PLAY A GAME NOW?”
That is my cue to come into your room and get you. Notice how I said come into your room and get you? That’s because somehow, you figured out about that invisible fence around your bed and if you get off without our permission, or without us watching you, you’ll get shocked. Just like those invisible dog fences. We haven’t told you otherwise, so for the past six months (since you started sleeping in a big girl bed) you have been calling out to us to retrieve you from your slumber.
Did I already mention you talk from sun up to sun down? Because you do. You can thank me for your chatty ways and your dad for your very articulate speech. He works with you on every word till you say it just right.
There are just a couple of words that have slipped through your speech lessons, and I love to hear you say them:
Nop: really is the word MOP, but you are convinced that we are up in the night when we correct you.
Ekersize: is the word, EXERCISE. I love this word from you. I hope you always say it.
Some of my favorite phrases are:
- “I’m having a little trouble mommy.”
- “Is this very cool?”
- “Daddy is a real doctor, for me.”
- “He doesn’t want to play with my toys!” (More like YOU don’t want Dallin to play with your toys.)
- “I’m okay right now.”
- “My diaper is bothering me.” (It bothers me too. When do you want to use the potty?!”)
- “I don’t want to use the big girl potty. I just want to be a baby still.”
- “Mommy! You’re doing an excellent job!” (This compliment was given when I was painting a picture frame white.)
- “Drive slower like daddy does!” (This is a personal favorite.)
- “Mommy, am I sick?” (You ask this every time you drink Sprite.)
- “I yawned. My body is tired. I think I need to take a nap so my body feels better.” (Direct parroting from your dad. He loves to explain everything to you.)
I have a superpower of being able to lose copious amount of hair daily, and regrow the same amount every day. Instead of just letting hundreds of hair strands drop to the bottom of the shower to clog the drain, (which, from personal experience, only takes one shower with my head of hair) I strategically place the lost strands on the shower wall, which is where they stay until I get out of the shower and dry off. Any time you come it to my bathroom to chit chat it up with me while I get ready you point out and exclaim in shear horror, “MOMMY! IT’S THE HAIRY BEAST! DAD’S NOT GOING TO LIKE IT!” I will admit, it does look like the loch-ness monster has invaded the shower and splat itself on the wall. Way to look out for your dad.
At church this last Sunday, you were brought to me from nursery because you were, well . . . STINKY. As you entered the room full of women (in the Mormon church, we have three hours of service. The last hour the men and women meet separately. The women’s meeting is called Relief Society,) you announced to me in your very loud voice, “Mommy! I have a stinky! Mommy! Change my poopie! I want to go back to nursery! I don’t want to stay in here with you! I want to get a flower at nursery! Mommy! I don’t want my bum bum to hurt! Can you change my diaper! It’s bothering me!”
Ladies were snickering and quietly giggling. And as we left that room together with you still explaining your dire diaper situation, I’m sure someone in that room was thinking, “Man, why isn’t that kid potty trained?”
Even if that someone was me.
The answer? Because you don’t want to be.
You are a delight. I love how friendly and welcoming you are to everyone. You love your brother so much. You always want to hold his hand when we sit down and read books together. He doesn’t really like his hand being tied down like that, but that doesn’t stop you.
We have introduced “time-outs” in the last few months. It works for you. And you know what works for me? When you think I’ve done something out of line and you very authoritatively tell me, “Mommy, you need a time out. You need to think about it.”
I’ll take one of those. Maybe two.