Today, my baby turns 3. I realize at some point I’ll need to stop calling her “my baby,” but I swear it won’t call her that in front of her teenage friends.
This is the year it feels like Nora really came into her personality. She has long been a smiley and energetic kid, but now those traits are easily on display for everyone she meets, not just those she’s closest to. I didn’t realize this until several months ago, when a friend commented that she could really see what Nora was like now.
And what is she like?
Dear Nora, dear, dear expressive and determined and enthusiastic Nora. Your emotions are right on the surface. Sometimes, when you’re upset, you shoot your dad or me a look of such disgust that I feel like I’m staring back at a teenager. But, luckily, you’re just as emotive about your joy. There is nothing I love more than making you laugh. Your whole face instantly lights up and you smile big with your eyes. And boy, do you love to laugh. Just tonight you egged me on in an all-out tickle-fest "now my feet, now my belly, now my neck," and the whole time you were a wiggly pile of giggles, with the occasional snort thrown in. So dainty you are.
You’re also very quick to change emotions, for better or for worse. Oh, you have a temper and when something doesn’t go your way, you cry huge tears and yell and scowl, often while throwing yourself on the ground and emphatically describing your disgust. "I don't like that, I don't want to." But as fast as it starts, it can end. Sometimes, mid-tantrum, you’ll catch sight of something that stops you cold, and the screaming is over. I’ve learned that, for the most part, we just need to patiently wait out these scream fests.
"For the most part" is accurate, because you do have quite a stubborn streak, and waiting doesn't always do the trick. Some nights it's a battle of wills to get your naked, running-around-the-house body into pajamas. And when you're in these moods, you laugh off directions and threats of punishment and actual punishment. Grrr. I should have known that you'd be a feisty one. You arrived into this world with a bang -- almost faster than your dad could get back into the delivery room -- and you were screaming mad.
I looked at your birthday entry from last year, and one thing that caught my eye is that I made note of some of your language, that you called bread “bay” and applesauce “ah-saws,” and that we could understand you, but others couldn't. Well, those days are gone. Bread is now "bread" and applesauce is "applesauce." Pretty much anything you want to express, you can. You’re still working on proper grammar, some of which I correct, and some I let go, because it makes you sound like the little girl that you are. One of my favorites of late is the exchange we often have about grown-up activities. It goes something like this:
What’s in your cup, momma?
Coffee.
Can I see it?
(I show her the liquid in the cup.)
Oh. When I was a grown up, I can have coffee, right?
Yes, Nora. When you’re a grown-up, you can have coffee. This same type of exchange can focus on many different subjects. The other night, you informed Jon that when you “was” a boy, you’d have whiskers.
This was a year of change in many other forms, too. For one, you managed to pretty much potty train yourself. Last fall, your daycare teacher said that she thought you were ready. I wasn’t so sure, but figured, what the heck, and so we started putting you in underwear during the day. To my surprise, you took to it immediately and now you're virtually accident-free.
You've recently taken to all things princess, especially Cinderella and Snow White, which are the only two princess movies we have. Yet you're still my little shark. For Halloween I’d imagined that you could be a butterfly (to go with Owen’s chosen costume of a caterpillar), but no way, you wanted to be a shark.
You still love books, and you always take at least one or two to bed with you. Sometimes you’ll cry for us to come back up to your room and when we get there to see what’s wrong, you inform us that “I need more books.”
You are an adventurous one. We joined the YMCA over winter and when we go swimming, you’ll fearlessly launch yourself between Jon and I. You and Owen both prefer the same bike – his old tricycle, even though your legs aren’t quite long enough to reach the pedals.
You can dress yourself. You chew gum (though you swallow it a bit too much for my liking). You’d brush your own hair and teeth and serve yourself breakfast if I’d let you. You like Bruce Springsteen and Jenny Lewis and Spoon and Alicia Keyes. You’ve started going to movies with us. You still refuse to use public toilets (and you cover your ears when I flush). You got your first freckles last summer. You continue your attachment to your yellow bear blanket. You grin at yourself in the mirror when we wrap you up in your lamb hooded towel after a bath. You love your brother, but are more likely now to want to do your own thing rather than join in on every plan he dreams up.
For now, you’re still sleeping in your crib. Someday soon, we’ll move you to a twin bed, but honestly, I fear where your independent streak will take you post-bedtime. When your brother was this age, we’d moved him out of the crib to make room for YOU. It’s weird to look at you and realize that you’re two months shy of the age Owen was when you came along. You seem younger than he did then, but I suppose some of that is the natural way that an infant makes anyone seem older. And why the youngest is always the "baby."
Nora, you are a joyful presence in our lives. I often wonder how I got so, so lucky. Happy birthday, little girl!
