Two

It's been a long time since I've written.  So long that the baby is not a baby anymore -- she turned two last month.

At two, she is a bona fide toddler.  She runs and she jumps and she climbs and she talks and she squeals and she laughs and she throws the most ridiculous temper tantrums.

A few weeks ago, we were in a chain restaurant near our new house -- yes, a house! in the suburbs! -- and after a string of me telling her to stop doing things -- no climbing, no squirming, no throwing food, no kicking mommy -- she wrote me a song.  "Mommy, no!" is destined to be a hit, someday.

She knows what she likes and what she doesn't like.  She loves matchbox cars, peeling the paper off of her crayons, anything from Frozen.  We were in Walmart right before her birthday, and she saw a whole display of Elsa dolls.  I tried to walk past them, but she is too quick.  "Oooh, Mommy!" she squealed.  "Let it gooooooo!"

She now has one of those dolls.  How do you say no to that?

We go to gymnastics every Saturday.  She loves to tumble, to climb on things, to swing from bars and rings.

This child has almost no fear.  A few weeks ago, I would have told you that she has no fear, but a few tumbles down the stairs have changed that.  She is now averse to the stairs.  She stands at the landing and cries, "Mommy, carry!"  It doesn't matter how full my arms are -- or how empty Daddy's arms are -- she only wants me to carry her.  No amount of scooting or crawling or handholding will do.  Only carrying, and only Mommy.

I'm sure I will miss this when she is a teenager and hates me to the core of my being.

This weekend, we went to the grocery store.  While we were waiting in a long checkout line, she lost it.  Not even stickers from the cashier would make it better.  So, I took her out to carry her, her diaper bag, and, two heavy bags of groceries.

Finally, we made it to the car -- on the second level of the parking garage, of course. I had to put her down to find the keys.  I stood her up between my legs and told her to put her hand on the car.  Instead, she ran.

She only got a few steps away before I caught her.  When I did, she gave me this look -- you know the look, the look you give someone when you are taunting them, when you are waiting for a reaction.  In that moment, I could see the future teenager that is going to challenge me on everything.

I was so scared and angry; I gave her a whole speech about running away from Mommy in a place where there were cars, and she could have gotten hurt, and NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.  She laughed.  I told her that I was so angry with her that we couldn't listen to Frozen in the car for the rest of the day.  Her reaction changed.  "No, Mommy, no!  Let it go!"

Indeed.