I can’t believe our Emma is two months shy of her first
birthday.
It seems impossible.
I can’t believe our Emma is two months shy of her first birthday.
It seems impossible. Our daughter, who in the beginning I couldn’t imagine developing beyond this warm bundle of a baby, is nearly ready to launch into toddlerhood.
As our little one gets bigger, I sometimes watch her in wonder, trying to venture a guess what she will be when she grows up.
I look for clues in the toys she chooses, the way her eyes twinkle when I sing to her and the quick smile she offers to perfect strangers.
Sometimes I think she’ll be a rocket scientist or some other profession that requires a lot of smarts.
She’s amazingly intelligent for someone her age. Believe me, I know. I’m her Mom.
The other day I started singing patty-cake to her – something I hadn’t done in awhile. But it didn’t matter that weeks had passed, Emma knew the hand motions for “roll” and “pat” and “throw it in the oven” and exactly the right times to do them. Amazing!
Then last week, my Mom asked her where Elmo was and Emma pointed to the television.
“Did you see that?” I asked anyone nearby.
Other times I think we have a young comedian on our hands. She thinks most everything is hilarious and almost always can make me laugh without trying.
She finds the word, “No,” especially amusing. Now, I don’t say it often because I’ve learned to keep most “No” things out of Emma’s path. But sometimes our little one manages to get into the few things she can’t have, i.e. the dog food or the wine cabinet.
So I tell her, “No.” But I swear a split second before I do, she looks up at me expectantly. She’s just waiting for me to say it. Then she chuckles and looks up at me as if to say, “That’s about the funniest thing I ever heard, Mom, say it again.”
I do and she doubles over in laughter. At this point, I have to practice my poker face to keep from laughing. If even one corner of my mouth turns up, Emma laughs louder and she knows that I know that she’s got me.
Other times I think that she could be a food connoisseur.
She is such a good eater, but definitely a discriminating one.
She won’t just eat anything I serve her on her highchair tray. The sliced peaches and egg often end up on the floor, while she gobbles up Cheerios, cubed cooked carrots, avocado and tofu. Our miniature dachshund, Lucy, waits below, quickly lapping up whatever falls from above.
Then again she could be a nature scientist. One of those patient people with binoculars around their neck who observes animals in their natural habitat.
Outdoors is her favorite place to be. She actually started crying last week when I brought her indoors after spending a half hour in the backyard. She could spend all day out there if I let her.
She walks across the lawn, her hands grasping mine, delighting in the feel of the grass below her bare feet. She lifts her head skyward, contemplating a V-shaped pack of birds flying south. Then she points to the flowerbed, sticking one adorable index finger in the air and says, “Uuuh.”
“That’s right, honey,” I say. ” Butterfly.”
Of course, there’s nothing that says she can’t be all of those things: a humorous, nature-loving, gourmet rocket-scientist.
And with any luck, she’ll still chuckle when she’s told the word, “No.”
