My children are out-maneuvering me at every turn.
I remember feeling this tired with Maggie, although not until Tom was gone on his extended trip. It seems that Moira will not rest–literally will not rest–until she is fully up and walking. I had a friend whose daughter was full-bore running by ten months or so and I remember feeling nothing but deep pity. Maggie didn’t crawl until nine and a half months and wasn’t fully walking until sixteen. She simply was not interested. But for the fact that I had to carry her wherever she wanted to go, it was quite advantageous.
She’s already doing the arm-over-arm army crawl. She’s about halfway to sitting up on her own. I have bets on her walking by the first day of autumn. And her little brain is so engaged, so ON, that she can’t sleep. She bucks and thrashes, tries to get on all fours, rocks herself into the wall of her crib.
It’s making me absolutely crazy. And then she’ll crash hard for three hours, wake up with a grin that splits her face in half and scream delightedly when you come in to pick her up, and I forget why I was so annoyed at 3am when she woke me up for the fourth time that night. A well-rested Moira is a sight to behold. She’s like Dug from Up. “I do not know you, AND I LOVE YOU.”
She’s into everything Maggie is into and if she could speak I imagine it would sound like this: “What’s that? What’s this? Can I eat this? I want to touch it. What’s over there? [crawl, crawl] I found this! This…whatever it is, it’s amazing! Hey, Maggie, what are you doing? SQUIRREL!”
If Moira is white-water rapids, Maggie continues to be my deep lake.
My aunt said she’s an old soul, and I see that more and more every day. Determined little bug, too–she is absolutely single-minded in her purpose and has no difficulty whatsoever outwitting me. When we were at the airport getting ready to fly back to England I was enjoying some chips with my dinner.
Maggie: Can Maggie have a chip?
Me: You need to eat your sandwich first.
Maggie: Hey! Look at dat plane!
I looked. SHE STOLE MY CHIP. I can’t believe I fell for that. To her credit, there was a plane out the window and it was very impressive.
Another time she hit me. Not a big deal; toddlers hit when they can’t communicate what they want verbally. I do insist that she take a time-out to calm down before we start talking through her emotions, because if I try in the moment she ramps up and keeps hitting. Pretty normal three-year-old stuff, but last time I put her in the bathroom to regroup. I went to get her roughly 90 seconds later and she had sat down on the toilet to do her business.
“Can you shut the door, Mommy? Privacy, please!”
I’m going to try to sneak another 45 minutes of sleep in before Maggie wakes up and starts the day’s demands. I have a feeling it’s going to be another mentally taxing one. But man, I love these little ladies. They crack me up.