Really, we were in mortal agony; I may have been fighting through scarring with “contractions from hell,” but you were swallowing your own poop. Even before you were born, you were fighting through filth, beating the odds. What can I say? It means you’re totally my girl.
Lately, I’ve been reading up on 24 month milestones. The American Academy of Pediatrics says that you should be climbing off of furniture independently, walking up and down stairs with support, scribble, use simple phrases, imitate others, play make-believe, and show defiant behavior. Based on this information, I feel I can reasonably assume that what everyone is saying is true: you’re way ahead of the game. You crawled at five months. You walked at nine months. You’ve been speaking in sentences for months. At this rate, you may finish your dissertation before I finish mine.
As for your dissertation, maybe it will be on fashion? You’ve got a real flare for trend-setting. Hats for warmth? Nah, it’s all about fashion. Who cares if it’s 80 degrees? It still might snow.
Your Nana was in town for a week, two weeks ago (this shows that your rapid development is a direct threat to my regular blogging). Her professional (and only partially biased) insight is what really drove it home, “being with Kate is just like being with any 2-year old… until you realize that she is not 2.”
Your fierce independence is starting to mess with our household set-up. You still don’t consistently sleep through the night, and we’ve run into problems with putting you back in your crib. Like the other night, when you popped out your Abby from a solid sleep to clearly tell your father: “DADDY, NO BACK IN CRIB.” Since then, getting you to sleep in your crib is a major challenge. You slept on Will’s bed three nights in a row while he spent a week with Granna and PapPap’s at Uncle Skip and Aunt Emily’s (his first trip with the grandparents and longest time ever away from Mom). The last two nights, you’ve been sleeping soundly in a twin bed at the apartment downtown. You’re ALMOST 2 and have made it clear you’re done with being fenced in. You’ve also made strides in potty training, something else which you have begun without warning, by your own choice, with your own rules. As with most things, we’ve decided that the best course of action is to let you control the situation. The last thing we want is for you to realize that you could make some serious power plays in your pottying.
Our plan was to start after we got back from Peru. Your plan was to be potty trained before swim season, and you’re doing a great job of getting there. The biggest issue? You lose patience on the pot… sometimes before you’re finished. We’ve tried to encourage you to bring reading material to keep you on the pot longer. It doesn’t work for long.
You and Will are forever locked in battle. You cannot be in the same room without touching each other, and any contact results in a complete attack. My Grandmother had a phrase in Ukrainian, “From Laughter to Tears” which accurately describes every 5 minutes between you and Will. This has brought a new phase in our household: you and Will cannot be compelled to do anything unless your father or I have a conniption fit. I actually think that time outs, forced separation, and injuries bring comfort to you both: you cannot go to bed each night without at least a dozen or so of each of the above. It must bring a necessary order and balance to your lives. Also, it whittles away at my sanity, which is probably your main intent.
You had a full conversation on the phone tonight with your PapPap. You told him about your “ow-ee” which you got about a month ago when your friend Anya pushed you on the porch at school. You tell everyone about your ow-ee, which is now a scar so faint that one has to remember the injury in order to realize that there ever was an ow-ee in that spot. You also told him about the shoes by the door (the ones that were covered in debris and dust and I painstakingly washing and cleaned), about your dinner, and about Will. You may have also told him the winning lotto numbers for tonight, we can’t be sure, because we’re still reaching to figure out all of what you say. You’ve got an awful lot coming out, but we’re lucky to catch half.
We are so thrilled with every moment with you. I am so worried about our coming trip… how will I manage three weeks away from you? Maybe a more important question is how are your Granna and Aunt Linda going to handle caring for you? They cannot be prepared for the cuteness that awaits them. I’m telling you right now: if we come back and there is a pony in the yard, I don’t care who gave it to you… it’s not staying.
Happy Birthday, Baby Kate! We are so proud of you!
