Good night, Moon

Today, Amelia was a holy terror. She objected to not participating in the breakfast-making procedure and she verbalized it with actions. First, she took over mopping. That hallway would have sparkled by sheer will alone, had the incessant up and down marching of the swiffer not sufficed. The casualties; knick-knacks knocked over plus the actual area that needed mopping, those were my problem, not hers. All attempts to mop the dining area, specifically, the fruit grenades she launched under her chair, were countered by a fit of rage. A screaming, crying, baby pushed me away. Do I really want to discipline her over mopping? Fruit flies take days to hatch. Really, how clean does the floor need to be? Abruptly, she tossed aside the mop. Yaay! I can mop! Yay? I can mop? Huh? But before I could clear my mental cobwebs, here she comes again. With a doll basket containing daddy's t-shirt from yesterday, two mismatched Amelia socks and hey! those are my clean pjs! She raided my drawer! Oh no! She dumped the rest of the laundry inside my lingerie drawer! I guess it IS time to do laundry. But I wanted an easy day, since both she and daddy slept poorly last night, I woke up a lot and feel tired. Oh well. Half-way through loading the machine, she is off, running to the dishwasher. Is this what my day looks like to her? Now there's cutlery all over the sparkling wet hallway. Thank God for plasticware. Amelia comes and grabs my finger and pulls me to the back door. It's time to go out to play. Out we go, the sun makes me sleepier. It's so hot and it's only 9 a.m.? Oh no, this won't do! Amelia! Get your shoes we are going out! I don't need to repeat myself. She is off and comes back running with two different pairs of shoes. I put the white sandals on her little feet. She tugs at my hand and shakes her head. A pink shoe is pressed into my hand. Ok, we can change her shoes. Lather, rinse, repeat. Again. Ok, now I'm starting to lose my patience. Out we go, now! But at the door, she refuses. Grunts, takes a step back. I'm getting exasperated. She tugs at my hand and leads me back to the changing table. "Amelia", I say, "we just did this not five minutes ago..." sure enough, a suspicious smell reaches my nose. Sigh. I immediately feel guilty for thinking I was just fine not knowing she needed a clean diaper. Up on the table, she squirms, kicks my lip open, and doesn't want the diaper closed. As if her life depended on it. It' s still only 9:10 a.m. and I am exhausted. I close my eyes, mentally wishing the day over, when she giggles and tugs at my hand again. Amelia is perfectly still. The diaper goes on and she stands up to hug me very tight, patting my arm. My heart melts. Too soon, the long day is over. We read "Good night, Moon" over and over. We snuggle. She burrows in my bosom and her eyelids slowly flutter down. Flutter. And shut. Good night, Amelia. Sleep well, my child. I will try to be better tomorrow. I will try not to let silly things like dishes and fruit on the floor interrupt your happiness. Sleep well, I will guard your sleep. Good night, stars. Good night, moon. Good night, Amelia. You are my moon and stars.

Today Amelia is sick. It's been a long today. 4 a.m. The night is not over for me so Monday hasn't started. Amelia is tossing and turning in her bed, clutching Frog. Thank God for her sidekick and accomplice. She draws strength from it. Her own little green superpowers. Although at the moment, green means more. It is the shade of pallor of her beautiful visage. It is the shade that threatens to ooze down her right nostril every two or three sniffles. It is the tint in her oh-too-frequently-changed diapers. My little girl has the flu. Her first flu. How dare a bug upset her so! And I am powerless to quash it. All I can do, relegated to the sidelines, is sit and stare at the two-inch monitor and watch my baby fight her own battle. Tossing, turning, sniffling, coughing. Raging war with microbes in her little organism. She swims across her crib: left to right, to and fro, in a tight little ball then fully stretched out. Yet despite the flurry of activity, somehow, she sleeps. Every ragged breath keeps me up, as surely as if she had cried out for me. The way she did last night, when hand-in-hand, heading towards the bedroom, chatting excitedly with a prized cheerios snack bowl in hand, she turned, puzzled, and questioned me silently as her little stomach heaved. The floodgates opened and out poured her insides. That was not green. Oh my God, no. That was ripe and well beyond. The stench filled the kitchen air, much like the offending vomit filled her mouth. I held Amelia by her hand and placed one hand on her stomach, trying to comfort the pain, encouraging her to finish the smelly job she had started, to rid herself of the offending material inside her. Narrating what was happening to her, wishing I could understand why she needs to feel so miserable so I could explain that this was "normal", give her the vocabulary for this green-in-the-gills moment, I prayed for the fortitude not to sob with her. The pain and fear etched in her little face as the violence of her wretching lifted her off her tippy toes and onto the palm of my hand that was aplying pressure to her sensitive, bloated belly filled me with rage. Why must she go through this? She's so small! Through it all, she leans on me, right little hand curled around my shoulder, gripping my arm, never letting go, never wavering. She is strong. I draw my strength from the knowledge that she can fight her own battles. One bug at a time. After all, she is my little superhero, with her own green sidekick.

Her Saucy Phase.

Today Amelia was a very giggly girl! She throws herself into each new discovery, her avocado sauce on her breakfast tacos. The ketchup on her chicken strips. The cheesy sauce from her broccoli casserole. Or should I say she throws her discovery? More like flings. Everywhere! Except that small spot under her bib. That is spotless. But her hands, her arms, her face, all covered in sauce. When I try to offer assistance she grins and turns away. She does things herself, her way. My baby enjoys her food. By squishing it with her fingers, painting the table with it, and finally, licking it off her fingers. Foods she had been ignoring for a few weeks, devoured by adding sauces to it. The food is just a vehicle. It's all about inhaling ketchup. Through french fries if necessary, but really, those are optional. It's clear to me: it's a sassy face!

Soup and strawberries

Today Amelia enjoyed soup! I had never given her baked potato soup and she loved it! So much that she needed to feed herself. She actually did pretty well, especially if you consider she kept the spoon right side down most of the time.
I left a nice tip. Really. I also left behind her bib. I considered leaving her clothes behind but that seemed a bit excessive.
Of course, to wash down that soup she needed a drink. And I don't mean the alcoholic kind I would have liked. Rather that dark bubbly thing mama is drinking... I swear she knows when I'm willing to bend rules in favor of smiles. And oh yeah, she smiled.
For dessert? Chocolate covered strawberries. What's a little sugar? Sleep is overrated and I'm either fearless or just nuts. No response necessary! I think I'll go with sleep deprived. Makes me sound like a better mother.

I can learn!

Today Amelia made me learn that things change. I don't want to have a house full of child-proofed cabinets. I'd rather teach her some things are not hers. Now I clean mainly with vinegar, hydrogen peroxide and baking soda. If she gets her little hands on it, it might be unpleasant, but not toxic. I'm so smug about her amazing understanding that I tend to get lulled into complacency. UNTIL she does little things like reach for that bottle WITH A TWIST-ON CAP and oops! Did I think yesterday was a fluke? Hellooo, lady, she's a baby, she doesn't have Alzheimer's! Just as I finished drying her after her bath, too. Did I mention she's growing and her arms have a pretty good reach?
Ahh, the awesome aroma of vinegar. I'm sure I've learned my lesson and I'll keep the vinegar stashed where she can't just unscrew the cap. Maybe I'll even put a lock on the cabinet.

No naps and melty hearts

Today Amelia melted my heart. After a 4:30 a.m. wake up and non-stop activity because my little energizer bunny decided naps were for babies, I was frankly exhausted and running short on patience. Her smile was suddenly not so cute. And then at 6:30p.m. she reached up with both her chubby little hands, placed one on either side of my face and reached up and hugged me tight. She snuggled her face against my neck and settled in and clung tightly to me. I held on right back, as hard as I could. Wishing I could hold on to her forever. She fell asleep within minutes, still hugging my neck. Still clutching my heart.

Pride and Fear

Today Amelia had her first visit to the lab to get her blood drawn. I dreaded every mile, wishing I had asked Brandon to take her. She was wonderful. The tech, Anna, was fast and accurate and the pain was over almost as fast and sharply as it began. Amelia was confused, but calm. My heart was still weeping. Once in the car, I sat in the back seat with her, wishing to comfort her. She didn't need it. She was happy. Amelia explored the minivan and found a bottle of water. I asked if she was thirsty and received a fixed stare for my concern. The bottle got shaken and stirred but remained closed. Reluctantly, Amelia handed me the bottle. I opened it and held it to her lips, guiding the bottle as she took control and drank. Hardly any spilled. Yaay. She then handed it back so I obediently screwed the lid closed. Oh-Oh. Amelia tilted her head. I was being observed. Little hands reached for the half-empty bottle. Sitting on my lap, I felt my heart tighten as I remembered her little crying face, the needle flowing with her ruby-red blood, the cotton ball soaked in alcohol and omg she opened the water bottle. My heart sank. She can screw a water bottle cap off and on?? She's only 14 months! Yesterday! I'm not ready to baby-proof water bottles! What can possibly come next? Apparently? Water-boarding. Amelia crowed at her success! Then pushed the bottle at my face, guiding it to my lips like I had with her. And tilted the bottle. I gulped down. Then again. She withdrew the bottle, recapped it and smiled. Much like the Mona Lisa. Or my cat when it knows I can't prove he was prancing on the kitchen counters the second I can't see him. One more time, Amelia unscrewed the water cap and forced me to drink to the very last drop. Never was a mother so proud and so afraid.