Let’s talk about how crazy you are. Like how you’ve learned to do somersaults because obviously you want to be a gymnast like your mommy (I know your daddy insists that you are going to be a professional tennis player but he is wrong.) And about how you’ve learned to climb up your slide and go down it all by yourself.
And so for some reason, in your little head this translated to “I know! I’ll do a somersault DOWN THE SLIDE! It will be the best somersault ever and I most certainly won’t break my neck!”
This is the part where I tell you that maybe I should think about taking up hurdles and trying out for the 2016 Olympic games. I mean, for one thing we could totally vacation in Rio. And for another, I cleared the couch in what had to have been world record time and caught you mid flip. Remember all those times in the hospital where you almost died and I was a total wreck? Let’s make a deal where we agree that I’ve been through enough near-death moments with you already and so you don’t do things like SOMERSAULT DOWN A SLIDE.
You know how you like to get your balls out of the ball pit and gleefully throw them down the slide while yelling “Ba-Ball Glide! Ba-Ball Glide!” because you have a tiny stutter and also because you’ve apparently inherited your parents love of a good Skee-Ball game? Let’s just stick to that.
But back to the crazy. You are crazy funny and you make me laugh all day long. Like, you are the baby version of The Bloggess, except with less curse words and none of the creepy dead animals.
The other day I had the refrigerator open and when I turned back to it you were standing there methodically taking apples out of the apple bowl and biting them one at a time. Just one bite and then you put the apple back in the bowl, picked up another one, took a bite out of it, replaced it, picked up another one, and so on. I probably should have stopped you but I found it completely hilarious. Especially after your daddy opened the refrigerator to grab an apple for his lunch and was all “Why are there teeth marks in all of my apples?” That was awesome.
It was also kind of genius because we only eat our apples sliced in this house and so I didn’t even know you knew how to eat apples the real way.
At dinner we ask you to tell us when you are all done. Your speech therapist wants you to work on not mimicking and so instead of telling you to say “all done” I asked you “What do we say when we are finished eating?”
You put your finger to the corner of your mouth and cocked your head like you do when you are thinking, a move that in and of itself is so precious that it almost makes me want to have another baby except for that this bakery is closed. And then you said “Ummmm….one?” and held up the number one with a look so hopeful that I sort of wanted to say “YES! That’s totally the right answer!” and take you to Disney World because I am a sucker for you.
Like how yesterday we went outside to play with the water table. I had been talking it up for a couple of minutes while we put your shoes on and you were excitedly running in place next to the door waiting for me. Once we got out there I realized that your daddy must have dumped out the water and I needed to replace it. So I had to bring you back inside with me to fill up the water pitcher. You burst into tears and I felt terrible for you because it did seem mean didn’t it, how I took you outside and showed you the empty water table and then brought you right back in the house? If you were older you’d be telling that story to a therapist.
I was standing at the sink filling the pitchers and trying to reassure you that we were going right back out side. You stood there with your lips trembling and your hands upturned, tears dripping down your chubby cheeks. In a shaky voice you kept crying “Mama why is it? Why is it?” Which in Scarlette speak sounds like “Mama, wi-ya ish eet?” and was so utterly charming that I had to turn my face so you didn’t see me laughing at your adorableness and get your feelings hurt worse.
You can read your books along with us and you love to give commands to the characters. “Go! No Way! Bye!” you’ll say to them as you turn the pages. When you see my cell phone you immediately hold it up and say “CHEESES!” because, well, I take way too many pictures of you. Your daddy can no longer play basketball with you as his cheerleader because you want to be on the court. He lifts you up and you dunk the ball, squealing as it goes through the net. You’re so happy, Scarlette.
I’m soaking up watching you learn. You figured out how to blow bubbles on your own. Earlier this week you dumped out a bottle of bubbles and then took it to the water table and filled it up with water. And I was all “SOMEONE CALL HARVARD, MY BABY OBVIOUSLY HAS THE WORLD’S HIGHEST IQ.” You moved from a high chair to a booster seat and I teared up a little as I packed away yet another baby item as we move toward having a two year old.
It is the most humbling of blessings to be your mother.
I love you punkin pie,