Day 512: Growing up

I can't even believe I am about to say this, but I have been feeling a small wave of nostalgia for Maddie's newborn days. Yes, that was nostalgia, not nausea, though I wouldn't blame you for making that mistake. If ever there was a mom who was happy to leave that stage far, far behind her it was me. But having spent some time lately in the company of friends and their newborns, I admit to feeling a tiny bit of sadness that my baby is not really a baby anymore. That is not to say the old biological clock is back up and ticking - no, I threw that against the wall long ago in a sleep-deprived, depression-induced rage. Some days I think it may be beyond repair. But still, there is something to that newborn smell, to those tiny balled up fists, the hours spent immobilized on the couch while your baby rises and falls against your chest.

All that having been said, though, I wouldn’t trade where we are now. No, I am definitely one of those mothers who enjoy this ride more as it goes along. I’ve spent a lot of time focused lately on what Mads is not doing – namely talking – rather than on what she is doing. The girl is a riot. The giggle that was once so elusive comes easily now, as does her goofy, crooked-teethed smile. She’s just about given up walking altogether in favour of a full throttle, wobbly sprint. This has resulted in more than a few bumps and bruises, but she takes them in stride. Our house – what there is of it these days – sounds more like a barnyard than a home. I’m half-convinced that the reason she isn’t talking is because she’s entirely focused on perfecting every animal sound known to man. We’ve got bears, monkeys, snakes, cows, owls, mice, pigs, and even monsters. Some of these we’ve taught her, others she just assigns on her own.

It’s not all roses, of course, because life with a toddler never is. We’ve got our days full of whining and tantrums, to be certain. But even those – while undeniably irritating – are manageable. Whereas in the early days it felt like endless and irrational screaming, at least now I know why she is upset. Most times it’s not a very good reason, but at least there is a reason. Maybe it’s that I wouldn’t let her lick the dog bone, or throw rocks at random passerby; maybe I stopped her from playing in the kitty litter, or from stuffing fistfuls of dirt in between the chesterfield cushions. Now, do these minor offences really call for screaming, sobbing, gasping meltdowns? I would say no. But I'm happy enough just to understand her, even if she is a little drama queen.