The sneaky bum.

We're driving home in the car, Pebbles and me. It's dark, it's shitty weather (surprise!) I'm listening to the radio, and hoping that she won't fall asleep on the way.

A little voice came from the backseat: "Mom, my bum is sneaking out."

I turned down the radio. "Um. Your what?"

"My bum!"

I glance over my shoulder. She's strapped in to her five-point carseat, just like I thought she would be. "Oh, well. We can fix that when we get home."

"It's a long way, Mummy."

"Yes, that's true I guess." I turned up the radio, hoping she'd get interested in the music and forget about her little problem.

"Mummy, I need HELP!"

"Allrightallrightallright." I pulled over, went around the back of the car, skidding and slipping on the icy shoulder, went back to the driver's seat to unlock the doors, and finally managed to get where I needed to be. I tucked my hands down on either side of her little self, and sure enough, a soft warm tiny bottom. I tugged up her tights and got back in the car.

"Thank you Mummy.

"You're welcome. No more sneaky bum?"

"No more sneaky bum."

It's the little things

Pebbles is outgrowing her size 18 mos pants. Fair enough, I guess - she's 29 months old.

*

When I was 2, I wanted to be a princess for halloween. My parents were young and broke, and they just wanted to use stuff they had around the house, so they dressed me as a hobo. I cried. They laughed. (They also sucked, but they were 20 and 23 years old. I've forgiven them - mostly.)

Fast forward...OMG...33 years, and I have a two-year-old girl. She's precious. I want to buy her the best damned princess costume you ever did see. But noooooo. Pebbles wants to be a MONSTER. RAHR.

To three or not to three?

Yesterday afternoon, I spent a little while working on a paint-by-number while the kids watched some TV.

"So?" You ask.

And this morning, I woke up to find that Pebbles had spent the entire night in her own bed, with no 3 am requests for cuddles or a bottle. That's been happening more and more.

"She's two," you remind me. "That's what we expect. And why are you still giving her a bottle at 3 am anyway?" (I don't know. Leave me alone.)

...AND I've noticed lately that there are times in the evening when - get this! - nobody needs me for anything. I could sit down, and it's almost like nobody would notice. Except maybe the cat, who is attracted to warm horizontal surfaces.

I was looking at pictures of Pebbles, and suddenly I'm realizing how much she's grown. That she really isn't a baby any more. She's a toddler, a person in her own right, fully equipped with her own agendas and opinions. We're arriving at that point where it starts to get easier. Or at least less intense.

So I hear myself asking, in a faraway, singsong kind of mental voice...do I want another?

HELLO? WHAT?

And then I glance nervously at my husband, to see if he heard me thinking that. Because if he did, I think he might actually cry. And then shake me. And then ask a lot of loud questions about my mental health. And I'd be waiting just as anxiously for my answers, because that's just...

(...it's biology, is what it is. It's a gazillion years of reproductive programming.)

...crazy. I've been working six days a week and I'm in no position to change that, I don't ever feel like I spend enough time with the Beloved I already have, I haven't been writing, or baking, or keeping up with any of my friends. So sure, let's have another baby. FABulous idea.

Says the little voice that started it all, "I didn't mean right this minute!"

"Oh, shut up," I tell it. "We are not discussing this." And we're not.

At least not right now.

Night life

The night before last, my two-year-old daughter woke up at 11:30 pm, just as my eyes were drifting shut. I waited to see if she would settle, and she didn't, so I went to bring her into the big bed. That always works.

Or, yanno, not.

My usual secret weapons - back rubbing, whispering the words to Goodnight Moon, saying good night to all her favourite TV characters - nothing I did was any help at all. I had some time to reflect that girls always seem to be angry with their mothers for something, and Pebbles seems to have picked out her reasons already. An hour later, she was still tossing and turning, fussing and complaining, and I was Highly Annoyed. It all came to a head when she suddenly began to crawl away from me, escaping my grasp in the dark, ignoring my warnings, and fell off the bed.

"Well, what did you think would happen?" I growled as I picked her up off the floor.

He-who-fixes-everything came in then, took the tired and weeping daughter from the tired and angry mother, and went away.

Half an hour later they returned. He was ready for bed. She…not so much.

For nineteen days we took turns telling her to go to sleep, groaning softly into our pillows and and forestalling her attempts to start up a conversation. "Where Nanny? Where BamBam? I go play now?"

At 4 am I declared an intermission, and we all got out of bed for a snack and bathroom break. Pebbles took the opportunity to pee out the side of her diaper (all over both of us), so we donned fresh jammies, shared some toast with Cheez Whiz and a peach. DH decamped to the downstairs sofa, and Pebbles and I read some board books. We (finally) went to sleep at about 5 am.

All day yesterday, it was 3 am on a deserted country road inside my mind. On an electric pole, standing sentinel beside a moonlit corn field, a transformer crackled and sparked from time to time, and the Bzzzt! Bzzzzzzzzt! was the only sound for miles around.

The customers here at work were thrilled to find such a good listener, and so expounded on their problems - computer-related and otherwise - at length, while I had deep thoughts like "Yanno, I think this guy has dentures."
Bzzzt. Bzzzzzzt.

"How do I import my contacts from my backup to to Outlook?"
I want popcorn. Popcorn would be really good right now.
Bzzzt. Bzzzzzzt.

"Hello, it's Mimi from Iffy Electronicals? Could I speak with your purchasing manager, please?"
Swimming, swimming, in the swimming hole, when days are hot…
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

"Yes, it's Edouard from the Massive Book of Overpriced Advertisements…"
when days are coooooooooooold, in the swimming hooooooooole!
Bzt. Bzt. Bzzzzz....….t.

A feeble wave from the dark side

Pebbles has been sick. She threw up in my spaghetti. She hasn't been eating or drinking much at all, so we're nursing more. She's in my arms all the time, anyway, no matter what the hour, day or night.

You moms know how it is at times like this. Baby wants nothing to do with the Daddy, and if you want a bath, you're taking her with - or you'll listen to her screech - your choice. At least she's only 20 lbs, if she even weighs that any more, with the week she's had.

So I'm at work today, and glad to be here. She seems a little better today, Daddy says. We'll see what happens at suppertime. Anyway, I want to reach between 6000 and 6500 words today, so I'd best bust a move.

Good Things

My little sister is coming for the weekend, and we're closing the shop for three whole days. Yay! We'll be taking the kids to an amusement park, where they have a petting zoo and rides and a waterslide and ice cream. BamBam is tall enough to go on all the rides now! We'll also be going to the Natal Day parade, because BamBam has never been to a parade, and hell, he's going to be six this month. (My bad.)

Today is going to be a stellar writing day, because Employee is away, and I can't imagine people will want to bother much about me when it's thirty degrees and sunny out there. And see, it's only 6:30 and I'm writing already, thanks to Pebbles, who woke Mummy at five o'clock and then went back to sleep.

Also very excited about Bambam's birthday party. When asked what sort of party he wanted, he said "A surprise party."

"Dude, you can't plan your own surprise party."

"No, but YOU can. Just...surprise me!"

All righty then. I think I can pull that off. So I told him it really wasn't quite the thing, and maybe we'd talk about his party later. In the meantime, any idea who he'd like to invite?

So, guess what we're doing?

COWBOY ADVENTURE!

With a hayride, blown-up bouncy jumper things, all-you-can-eat hotdogs, AND a pony ride. Not at the house, (blessing self) but at a facility that actually does that stuff. Provided you sign the waiver.

Sucker mom, to the rescue. Yes, it's maybe more than we ought to do, but once I saw the website I just couldn't help myself. You only turn six once.

Wait.

SIX?

How did this boy get to be six?

Status update

BamBam goes in for day surgery next week, they're inserting tubes in his ears to clear up an ongoing issue we've had with his hearing. It'll be reasonably pain-free, but he's a cautious little person and so we'll be using the next few days to help him prepare for the ordeal. We've got a video from the library and I've been bringing up the topic now and again, gently, since I've noticed he really doesn't want to discuss it. Fingers crossed it all goes well, they do this dozens of times a week, in any case.

Pebbles can stand, but at fourteen months hasn't begun walking yet. She does, however, climb - and there have been a number of heart-stopping incidents when we've had to take her down from the top of a five-foot ladder, the end table, etc. Have I mentioned this already?

Writing-wise, no news. I've had to make my peace with being a hobby-writer for now. Stick with me writer-friends, I still need you!

Mummy's girl

Pebbles has discovered books. Well, she knew about books, but this past week she's become rather passionate about them. Just try to walk past her, where she sits in a puddle of cardboard, opening and closing the multicolored, multi-textured tomes, struggling to turn the pages, chattering happily to herself.

"UH!" She says, holding up her favourite, MOO,BAA,LA LA LA. "Read to me!"

And so, of course, we've been doing a lot of Mooing and Baaing, and very little laundry.

What joy! I watch her, and I imagine the places she'll go, the people she'll meet. The things she will see, safe here at home, and the things she'll learn. I hope that books are a respite and a joy to her, as they are to me.

She's just like her mum, I think happily (and secretly) to myself, hugging that little evidence of me - my legacy - close. And then hugging her close, instead, and settling into another round of GOODNIGHT MOON. I love to see myself in my kids, maybe we all do. I'm quick to ascribe traits to this little bundle of change: she's fearless like her Dad, because she climbs everywhere, up the stairs, on the back of the sofa. (Nevermind she hasn't any real experience with the downside of gravity and she doesn't know better.) DH says she's got my temper, and while I can't deny she has one, I tend to think it looks more like his.

What traits have you shared with your children, through nature or nurture?