Papoe

Baby Liberation Day

Sunday was Baby Liberation Day. The day, two years ago, that our baby girl came home. We explained to Jocelyn that we were celebrating the day that she met her baby sister—the day that she got so excited that she involuntarily pooped her pants. Okay, so she was only a year a half, but it was her first reaction to the little bit named Aja. Within a day we were living our new normal. Normal these days is full of lots of laughter and tantrums and sisterly love (and fights). Aja is the tormentor and Jocelyn is bossy and they are showing me signs of my future with two teenage girls. The eye rolling has begun and I can’t stop it.

Along with the great escape from baby jail, we have observed many other moments of growth and fun.

Halloween 2011

Yo Gabba Gabba Live

Making biscuits with Nana for Thanksgiving

Baby Liberation Day cupcakes

And for old times sake, I introduce the day they met:

  

 

Being three is a series of stops and starts

Jocelyn is perfecting the art of being three. She is not as much interested in the WHY of life as in the WHERE and WHO. “Where you going?” “Who combed your hair?” “Who bring this?” And she is perfecting her defiance—something that takes over her sweet nature when I’m trying to get her out of the car or into bed each night. Tonight when I tucked her in for the third time she said, “Mommy, I had a rough day.”

Life at three is a series of stops and starts.

Stops

She started ballet class yesterday. I should say that I signed her up for ballet class, but she didn’t quite dance. She clung to Khary and screamed in agony each time he tried to get her to stand or twirl. The teacher told me that she may not be ready. I did not take this well.

Starts

For the second year we drove out to Livermore to Joan’s Farm to find the perfect pumpkin. Twelve months ago Jocelyn saw the pony rides and jumped and skipped and said, “Horsie! Horsie!” We paid for a ticket and stood in line. The man in charge took her hand and lifted her up on to the pony. She began screaming before he could even latch her belt.

I expected a repeat performance. Screaming, crying, and all-around fear. But she cautiously held onto the reigns with a coy smile on her face. At times I had to wave to get her attention because she was in deep concentration as the ponies walked around and around and around.

The girls found their perfect pumpkins and we headed home. Later, Jocelyn spotted the pumpkins out on the patio. She screeched with delight. “Pumpkins!”

Her nose pressed against the glass, she asked loudly, “Who bring them?”

A date with my daughter

Some days I miss when the girls were babies—when they could fit in the crook of my arm and I had to rock and shush them endlessly before they closed their eyes and sucked in a long breath of sleep. But then I am reminded that Jocelyn is now three.

We had a mother-daughter date yesterday. It wasn’t meant to be a date, since we were going to visit her pediatrician, but she was lit up with excitement from the moment I picked her up from daycare. She talked endlessly in the car about going to see Dr. Lee and about how she would tell Aja all about it. I left the stroller in the car and she walked with me inside, asking me questions about where we were and who was the woman that just walked by, and who is the man across the street. What was that loud noise?

In the waiting room, she sat on my lap and tried to help me fill out paperwork. She nuzzled my neck and in an attempt to make me laugh. The nurse called us in to take her weight and height, and she giggled her way down the hall and shook her booty when I tried to remove her clothes for the examination. She asked repeatedly, “Where’s Dr. Lee?” And as soon as the appointment was over, she asked, “Who was that?”

The survey says that she’s tall and healthy. We celebrated by walking over to Starbucks where I bought her a cup of fruit and an iced latte (for me). We sat at a table and talked. She told me how Dr. Lee looked in her eyes and mouth, and she demonstrated breathing in deep, in and out. She chomped on strawberries and asked when we were going to go back and get Aja.

We topped it all off by heading to the store. At first she was disappointed that we weren’t going to the warmers mahket, but her excitement rose when I put in her the cart. She listed off items she spotted in the aisles, reminding me that she doesn’t like carrots and she agreed that I should buy couscous.

Aja goes for her two-year appointment today. I don’t imagine that it will be a joyous date, especially with the shots that accompany the meal. Oh, and she has turned two. I keep starting a letter to her but I am still in disbelief. For days the page has read, “You are two years old.” To be continued…

And I poop and I poop and I poop and I poop

We have reached a monumental moment in the life of a toddler: poop on the potty. This happened without any nagging or cajoling on my part. All I’ve done is dress Jocelyn in pull-ups and hope that she learns a thing or two at daycare. I know there are parents out there that believe you can potty train a baby as young as 12 months. Perhaps you can, but I’ve been too lazy find out. If I have to wipe poop off a tiny butt then I find it a lot easier to deal with a diaper. Because I’ve seen what some of these kids do—whining and crying that they have to pee every 15 minutes. And yet, Jocelyn is not allowed to go on a field trip this week because she’s not fully potty trained. Were she practiced in the art of life sans diaper she could force one of her teachers to stand and wait the ten minutes it takes for her to take a shit rather than the 60 seconds it would take to change her Huggies.

But I digress.

I choose to celebrate (in the form of blogging memories) Jocelyn’s first official number two. She was proud—flipping her head from side to side, happily grunting and laughing and singing and jibber jabbering before I finally convinced her that poop-time had come to an end.

I can still hear her singing: and I poop and I poop and I poop and I poop.

Time, reading, and marching for babies

I finished a book yesterday. I could probably end my post right there because it was that monumental. I took advantage of the fact that the entire house has been sick all week; I put on Sesame Street to catch the attention of the little ones, and we all lounged around. I got sucked into the last 50 pages [The Girl Who Played With Fire, if you were wondering], and I read read read until the book was closed for good.

There is another meaning to this madness that is time: my girls are growing up. It’s an amazing thing to see them play and take care of one another. Jocelyn will go out of her way to pat Aja on the back if she’s coughing, and then Aja will walk over and pull Jocelyn’s curls. But then they hug and they fight some more and they love one another, and all the while I can lie on the couch and read my book and not have to referee. Well, for a moment anyway. Come noon the heads flip around, eyes open wide, and they descend upon me. Mommy, mommy, mommy!

I feel like I’ll never quite be able to catch up with how fast the girls grow up. But I’ll enjoy the time I have to read.

In other news, I’m celebrating Aja and her mighty milestones by participating in the March of Dimes, March for Babies walk on April 30^th. We’ve put together Team Aja, to honor the little miss thing and the fact that she’s kicking those “1lb 15oz” stats to the curb and moving her way up onto the percentage chart. Last we checked she finally made it to 1% for weight, and I couldn’t have been more proud. She’s at 85% for her head, so it’s really just a matter of growing into her noggin.

If you are interested in donating to our team and the March of Dimes*, you can click on the badge in the upper right corner, or just click this link. We know firsthand what it’s like to endure a premature birth and I want to do everything that I can to make sure no other family has to go through what we went through. I'm grateful that I can now joke about Aja's progress. She's 17 months old and thriving. But many other babies and their families are not as lucky. Every dollar counts, and we would be so honored for your help.

For those of us that took a break from exercising after having children, six miles is no joke. To compensate for our lack of energy, we’ve decided to train for this event. The first order of business: jumpsuits. I’m thinking these will look good on the girls.

Stay tuned for training updates…

*The mission of the March of Dimes is to improve the health of babies by preventing birth defects, premature birth, and infant mortality.