Nora inherited a scuffed green table and two chairs (one red, one powder blue) from one of my colleagues. She loves to sit on the chairs, dangle her feet, and slide off.
She learned, just today, to say, “awesome”, with perfect diction.
She loves to do the dishes with me. Today, while I was scrubbing, she repeatedly dunked a two-inch Homer Simpson plastic figurine in the water. Each time, she’d say, “Where go? Where go?” then rescue him from the depths.
After dishes, we are both soaked to our elbows. Almost every time.
She has so much joy contained in her little 30 inch frame. She’s taken to running around the house shouting, “yaaaaaayyyyy!” when she is really excited.
She also has so much frustration. Whenever she gets thwarted – an object taken away, attention redirected – rage makes her shake and she starts to cry or stomp or fling or bite or kick.
Everything passes quickly. Her little rages die quickly, either through hugs or re-redirecting attention to something new. I averted a full-on tantrum tonight just by sitting on the floor and reading one of her favorite books. She sat down with me, calmly, to read.
She loves laps. She says “lap, lap,” backs up and tries to sit on our laps when we’re on the floor with her. Sometimes she misses by a few inches.
I’m exhausted after she goes to bed. Like yawning, tearing up, dragging down the stairs tired.
When she’s older, I want to remember all these little moments, these every day times when we wash dishes, and read books, and color at lime green baby tables. I want to carry it all – the rage, joy, and exhaustion -with me.