Well, here I am again after a months-long hiatus. It's hard to put something out in the space and knowing it really only benefits myself. My thoughts are usually around whether I am wasting energy in the universe around this mental exercise. I've been around and around about a re-entry post, and it gradually became this incredibly oppressive task: the first blog post returneth should be meaningful and significant, and I was too scared to throw something out there without it being weighty.
So I decided to do a soft break by returning to the weekly menus.
Last week was a mess of frantic syllabus editing, creating spirometry results to match a new case, scheduling and running interviews, and hosting Whit's mom. But, we've managed to prepare the full menu for the week for the first time in a while.
kale, sausage, and white bean soup
spinach and wheat berry salad with green garlic dressing (based on this)
fish tacos with lime slaw
...plus strawberries from the market. And a bottle of wine because YOLO.
So, let's talk about that thing you did. You know. That thing. When I said "I love you" and you said "I raaa oooo" and it rained on my face.
You can also do the following things:
Say two-word sentences ("Daddy peepee," for the record)
Walk up and down stairs without using your hands
Call yourself by your own name ("yeah yeah")
Put on your own Crocs
Grow almost all of your set of baby teeth, so help me gawd (waiting on those two last molars)
Name the owner of household stuff, body parts, seating arrangements
Uncap a pen
Give big, awesome hugs
You went to the beach for the first time, and splashed in the Pacific Ocean. You had sushi (salmon and unagi all the way). You had ramen. You had tempura. You do your quarter-Japaneseness proud.
You are also starting to throw amazing temper tantrums. You yell "NO!" with a righteous indignation that would impress the most banal political pundit. Sometimes you fling yourself into the floor. Sometimes you screech into the couch cushions. That have so far ended quickly. At this, there have been understandable reasons for your tantrums, so they feel appropriate. This will likely change.
As I was walking back to my office from a meeting last week, it suddenly occurred to me that the reason I have been enjoying being a parent lately is because I am so excited to see you become your own person, make your own choices, and find your own voice. I love this. I love that you can choose which pants you want to wear, or if you want to go outside (always the answer is yes). I love that I can point to something and ask, "Do you want this?" and you can say yes or no. It's not just the clearer communication, although that has been less frustrating for us all. It's that every day I get a peek at who you are, and how you are thinking and feeling.
Even when you're mad at me (and I will note that when I ask "Do you love me?" I get a pretty hearty "NO"). Kids these days, man.
Well, I love you kiddo, no matter what you think of me. Happy 608th day in this world.
Someone is getting her two-year molars about five months too early.
But you are running around, eating, and generally doing well. You have been playing with a bucket and blocks that used to belong to your father. Your favorite things to eat are olives, sauerkraut, hummus, granola. You sometimes grab my hand and press it against your face. You hold our hand while walking when you are uncertain about the situation.
While I was cooking one day, you raised your arms and insisted "up, up, up." I pulled over a chair so that you could stand higher and watch what I was doing, and you pushed your face as far as you could and reached out your hands to touch the food I was preparing.
You like sitting on your potty with all your clothes on.
But this day, when I took these photos, you were serious and low-spirited. Your teeth hurt, you were having a hard time coping with frustration. You cried more easily. You wanted to be held a lot more.
You have also been sporting more bruises and scrapes on your knees. You've been coming home with splinters in your hands. The most common word we've been hearing is "owie." But when I hold you to pull wood slivers out of your palms with tweezers, you cry and cry but don't pull away. I am grateful that you are active and curious, and that you seem to understand enduring discomfort for a good outcome.