We watched a friend's little girl today. In an effort that all we mothers constantly strive to achieve, my friend wanted some balance and so planned to take a yoga class, a little patch of time to herself. As her daughter is beautifully attached at her age, we both knew this might prove tricky for said little one. They came over early, to settle little daughter in, and after a bit, my friend left and her daughter (a lovely, lovely girl who is only a few weeks younger than Dory, is even slighter than our girl with that blow-away-in-the-wind delicacy and has the soulful brown eyes of a poet) did exactly what you might expect and dissolved into tears.

For a while she was inconsolable, sitting on my lap and crying, and saying "mama, home, mama home," in that way that could actually break your heart in half if I didn't know what's she's starting to learn which is that mama will come home again. Mama will come home, hurrying, rushing, speeding, so glad to be home and so incredibly refreshed from her two and a half hours of time on her own. Mama will come home, there is little in the world as certain as that. In about two hours. Two hours is a hard thing to explain to a person who has no concept of anytime except Right Now.

Off and on this little girl cried and I would hold her while she did (I actually held her nearly all the time- she recognized, I'm quiet sure that, my possession of breasts meant sitting in my lap put her in much closer proximity to the good stuff than, say, sitting at Dory's baby piano. Sure it wasn't her good stuff, but- it's still nice to be close.) Dory played around her, sometimes engaging me or both of us and other times just playing and occasionally shoving her friend enough to the side of my lap to get her own good stuff ("the bobos" as they're known around here). And sometimes this little girl would watch, would look up, interact, and seem to have a very good time. And then something would remind her of mama and she would dissolve into tears again.

And it reminded me of anytime I've ever seen any friend with a broken-heart. The way you sort of limp along, and then slowly start to get your step back and then- bam!- you drive past the diner you always ate at or hear that song you both used to laugh at, but secretly loved and suddenly you're weeping on the kitchen floor. We were on a little walk in front of the house, Dory in diaper and shoes, marching along with purpose (remember, she knew exactly where her bobos were) and me holding our little friend on my hip, following, talking about leaves and sticks. And this girl suddenly said "stick!" with such enthusiasm I picked one up and held it out to her. At which point she melted in my arms, sobbing, "stick, mama, stick," in a way that said clearly, "this is just like the stick mama and I once picked up." And I did what I think most good friends do- I validated her feelings. "Yes, I know you miss mama. And maybe that stick makes you think of her. It can be tough when mama's not here. Even hearing she'll come back doesn't always help. Yes, I know. I hear you."

Off and on all morning, this was the experience. And then mama came home and it was exactly what you expected- daughter lights up, beams, than cries a little more and then it's done. The emotions are out, expressed, mama's home, she survived, and everything is right with the world again.

Mostly it made me realize/remember/get hit with that bolt of lightening- what's so bad about treating our children the way we treat our friends? If you go to a friend and say, "I've experienced this loss that I'm not sure I'll pull through or even how to start..." would your friend reply "oh, it's fine, get over it"? Or "stop crying! he'll be right back!" The emotion is the same for them as it is for one of us when we've been romantically wounded, only, I expect it's much worse. They don't yet understand permanence, impermanence, a run to the store, time to one's self. Yet how often do we dismiss their hurt because we (big, wise, moon-faced grown-ups that we are) can logically see the other end? Maybe its not treating our children as our friends (though that doesn't seem so bad either) but treating them like our friends that might make these relationships run a little smoother. And letting them know, they're worth the same respect as someone more than three feet tall seems like a good place to start.

Knees

Here is Dory the morning of the 'incident':


And here are her knees after:



Those are scratched, bloodied knees if I've ever seen them. At the duck pond, in total joy, Dory dashed around the perimeter of the pond, across the uneven pavement, took one misstep and... sprawled out on her knees and hands. A full-out whack! to the pavement.

She cried openly. I cried internally. She's had any number of bumps and bruises since she started walking, but this was easily the worst. There was no catching herself before she fell. There was real blood. There was even the icky sound of a schmack! when she hit the pavement. This was her first in earnest childhood injury.

I held her and she cried and I tried not to. My mother was at hand and she was calming for the both of us, commenting we could take Dory home, give her a bath, those scratches would be gone in a week, tops. After a few minutes, Dory seemed calmed down. We didn't rush back to the car, but lingered a little longer, looked at the ducks in the creek next to the pond, even spotted a mama and her baby ducklings.





It's tricky to see here, but that Mama Duck is in a protective posture. Next to us, on the bank of the creek, a woman had a dog and, seeing the ducks, he hit the end of his leash, barking madly. At first, she and the ducklings took off at full waddle through the shallow water. Unfortunately this took her right past the dog and on recognizing his nearness, she stopped, posed and four baby ducklings hid behind her. I don't know if Mama Duck had a plan, but her feathery body language communicates one clear statement: do not mess with me and my babies. After a little more "ooing" of the ducklings, the dog's owner moved on and Mama Duck and ducklings proceeded down the creek, ruffed only in spirit.

My duckling came to harm, through her own activities, and there was no one to blame. Rocky pavement? Sun in her eyes? Trippy kids' shoes? Maybe, who knows, and that seems a stretch. I still wanted to puff up, make my stance and just dare anyone to mess with my child. And like the dog leaving and the ducks waddling away, the moment passed. Yet just that quick flush of protective instinct reminded me how far more linked we are to our animal nature than we might normally realize. And that whatever enemy, be it leashed dog or old, cracked concrete can bring out the mama bear in all of us.

Or in this case, the mama duck.

And I'm glad to say, more than a week later, Dory has only the faintest signs of knees scrapes.

A Post in Pictures

In the words of Paolo Nutini, "I put some new shoes on/And suddenly everything's right..."





Story hour


What is 'Things You Find in Your Refridgerator When You Have a Toddler'


Baby Napoleon


The latest art house film: "Diapered Dollies, Pantsless Baby"




The latest hit song from the '30s: Walkin' My Monkey Back Home


Silly face kind of day

POV

Dory is asleep and this is our living room right now:



And instead of doing anything about that, I'm going to direct you over here to check out two new Dory videos- one of her and her dad, the other (and pretty darn interesting, I think, though you might attribute that to me being her mother) is a little video she took when I (please don't tell my husband) let her carry around our Flash recorder yesterday morning.

I can't remember if this is the one or not, but if I'm singing in the background, forgive me. And if Matthew asks, she overpowered me, stole the camera, figured out how to work it by herself and that is definitely, 100% not me singing in the background.

Open Doors

This morning, while using the bathroom, I heard Dory bust into a wail and a chorus of "mommy-mommy-MA-AHmee!" I, many parents with toddlers understand, had the bathroom door open (oh, yes, not-yet-parents, there will be a time, no matter what you might say now, when you poo with the door open- just wait) and could hear her clearly. So I called to her, coaxingly, "Mommy's in the bathroom! Can you come in here with me?"

There was a brief pause in the cry, and then a moment later it was taken up again, with even greater gusto. This wasn't the all-out, full-lungs, lusty yodel of a newborn baby, but more along the I'm-exasperated-with-you cry, or I-really-expect-better-service-than-this cry. So while I sensed the need wasn't urgent, (this wasn't an "a piano just fell on me!" yell or, more likely, "I've shut one hand in a book and with my other hand am squeezing it closed because I don't yet understand the physics of the situation!" yell) I found myself hustling to get to her.

I found a very sad-faced baby standing in front of the other bathroom, the half bath we almost never use, where the door was, in fact, closed. And, even after she saw me, and I picked her up, she insisted we open the door to make sure, I assume, I wasn't somehow in there still...

I wish a good Sunday to you all! And here are some Easter pictures from, oh, only a month ago, where I can't help but think she looks like she wandered off the set of The Sound of Music...

Sunny Days

I thought I would share some pictures from last Saturday... Dory, in the words of Sheryl Crow, wanted to soak up the sun.


Before we left the house that morning, for our first walk of the day, decked out in her new pink spring jacket (thank you Grandma Cindy!)...


Dory, by her own choice, carries the poop bag, for cleaning up after our doggie. Of course, the bag was empty at this point...


Me: Are you ready to go home?
Dory (points the other way): Nope.
(I like the fact you can see my shadow and, if you look closely, note I'm clutching a mug in my hand, as I'd brewed some really strong hot Irish tea. This gives me about a quarter of the get-up-and-go Dory rolls out of bed with every morning.)


Dory sits on a rock, at the park, on our second walk of the day. We saw another mother, with her toddler poised on a nearby rock, taking lots of pictures and trying to cajole her six year old son into posing too. I got Dory to do the same, in that she sat still for about two minutes, watching the other family. Then she was done and ready to get rambling again.


Dory, no jacket now, as this is our third walk of the day and its gone from forty something to sixty plus degrees outside. To me, her expression says: "Can we please GO? We've been inside ALL DAY."


We spotted this guy, hiding in the flowers. Dory surprised me with her stillness. I expected "CAT! Meow!" followed by subsequent kitty terrorizing. But she looked, announced, "Cat. Meow." and then on we went.


And, as all walks end, the ceremonial setting down of the walking stick... You, Child of Nature. Me, Mama who Need Sun Hat and Good Sneakers.

All the Words...

A list of all Dory's vocabulary as of late:

Dokey-dokey: Okey dokey

Noise

Youd: Loud

Yights: Lights

Nap

'Ice: Rice

Beez: Beans

Cahz: Cars

Guys

Boys

Toys! (always said with an exclamation point at the end; you can just tell)

'Kay: Okay

Sas: Salt

Sasa: Sausage

Books

Wead: Read

Horse

Doggie (also Puppy)

All done

Bye-bye

Hewoah: Hello

Monter: Monitor

Mommy/Mama

Daddy

Sit

Walk

Wok: Rock (this one you sometimes have to hear in a sentence- or at least a gesture)

Holt: Hold

Up

Dow: Down (and usually said "dow-dow-dow!")

Bookssss

Tabee: Table

Shing: Sing (usually song, usually Elmo's song)

Elmo

Doors

Dory! (again always said with an exclamation point)

Me (can mean her, but can mean "you"; another example of "could you use it in a sentence...?")

Houssh: House

Cow

Duck

Cat

Peggy: Penguin

Gam: her Gram (my mom; only said a couple times, but it was distinct!)

Bas: Bath

Watey: Water

Shoes

Shocks: Socks

Panss: Pants

Shirt

Head

Sholers: Shoulders

Knees

Toes

Paws (I might have made a mistake in referring to her hands as paws, as in "put that little paw in mine"...)

Eahs: Ears

Yes

And, of course, No, NOOOOO, No-No, and, just recently, Nope.

And that's all I can think of for now, at 11:30 at night. Her language expands so rapidly (daily) I realized if I didn't record it somewhere, we wouldn't have a way to remember her first real words, when she said them and the way she said them. And I expect there are a few long-distance friends and grandparents (and great-grand!) who might like a little list too...

And a cute story. We had a really busy day yesterday, playgroup in the morning, and then a visit to my parents after that. We played there for a couple of hours and suddenly Dory looked up, shook her hands (her sign for "all done"), and said "all done, bye-bye." And waved. Her grandparents (being easygoing people) were delighted and they burst out laughing. I packed us up, we got in the car, and within three minutes she was asleep. Isn't that amazing? Did she know she was ready for a nap? Could she tell she needed a break? Or was she just tired of her grandparents (just kidding Grandpa and Granny!). My instinct says, she was ready for a rest and she took good care of herself by letting us know. Just amazing.