Not a baby blogger.
Stepping outside to a cool fall day surprised me. What is it about September that makes it stop being summer so abruptly? It’s like a switch was thrown over Labor Day. The lovely thing about living here is that you can continue wearing short sleeves and opened toe shoes well in to October. Today, though, my toes are a little breezy. Time to start thinking about buying a new pair of go-to shoes for the non-summer months. And time to buy new cool-weather clothes for Ruby. Every 4 or 5 months, it seems we must totally replace her wardrobe as none of her long-sleeved panted items fit any more.
It’s funny, sometimes, how I’ll suddenly really LOOK at her and realize how much taller she’s gotten. She long ago shed her babyness and is just a spitfire of a little kid. She used to have such a large pumpkin of a noggin, and now she’s more kid-dimensioned.
She’s so full of that toddler-brand of piss and vinegar. It’s a very good thing that Richard and I manage to take turns getting impatient. If we both got twitchy at the same time, it could spell disaster, beer and an early bedtime for everyone involved. She also has a lovely way of playing pretend and she makes up great songs that involve “everyone’s FWY-ing....” (as in crying) among other things.
She has taken to trying to cause me injury, though, lately. Quick as a wink, I’ll find myself in a head-butted stupor, which is bad enough, but then I see her sly smile of satisfaction. That’s the fast track to Page-pissed-off-ville. She has knocked me in the chin, leapt into me brandishing both pointy knees at my delicate bits, and she’s bitten me, not always ungently but hey! Quitit!!!! I know she loves the reaction, but, in pain, it’s hard to NOT react.
And it goes without saying that as an almost 3 year old, she wants to do everything by herself. She is THAT grownup and all. And this is often fine, except for the many things she hasn’t quite mastered. And despite all this independence, she knows when I’m unhappy with her and wants nothing better than to curl up in my lap and make it better. Except, of course, if she’s caused me physical harm, in that case she’s got this little grin....
It’s funny, sometimes, how I’ll suddenly really LOOK at her and realize how much taller she’s gotten. She long ago shed her babyness and is just a spitfire of a little kid. She used to have such a large pumpkin of a noggin, and now she’s more kid-dimensioned.
She’s so full of that toddler-brand of piss and vinegar. It’s a very good thing that Richard and I manage to take turns getting impatient. If we both got twitchy at the same time, it could spell disaster, beer and an early bedtime for everyone involved. She also has a lovely way of playing pretend and she makes up great songs that involve “everyone’s FWY-ing....” (as in crying) among other things.
She has taken to trying to cause me injury, though, lately. Quick as a wink, I’ll find myself in a head-butted stupor, which is bad enough, but then I see her sly smile of satisfaction. That’s the fast track to Page-pissed-off-ville. She has knocked me in the chin, leapt into me brandishing both pointy knees at my delicate bits, and she’s bitten me, not always ungently but hey! Quitit!!!! I know she loves the reaction, but, in pain, it’s hard to NOT react.
And it goes without saying that as an almost 3 year old, she wants to do everything by herself. She is THAT grownup and all. And this is often fine, except for the many things she hasn’t quite mastered. And despite all this independence, she knows when I’m unhappy with her and wants nothing better than to curl up in my lap and make it better. Except, of course, if she’s caused me physical harm, in that case she’s got this little grin....
