Seems like it has been a long time since last I posted – so much has happened. Our little Pumpkin has had her first hair cut, climbed in her first tree house, played in her first rain storm (looking very Zen, I might add), worn her first pony tail, been to the beach, played in the sand, and attended Uncle Poly and Aunt Corey’s wedding. Sheesh, now I know what they mean by a picture is worth a thousand words – I refer you to the attached photos for all of that.
And speaking of a thousand words, Pumpkin’s vocabulary is quickly approaching that mark. Every day she amazes me by clearly articulating some need or desire. Last night she pointed out “dada’s choo choo” in the driveway (read: daddy’s truck). I’m quickly realizing that perhaps more important than her talking is me actually listening. Anyone who knows me realizes how difficult that sometimes is for me.
It slapped me in the face just last week while we were in Florida and as I was carrying her down the steps of the beach house she kept pointing at a tree and saying “Ow” and “ooooooh.” At first I gave her that cats-in-the-cradle-disinterested-busy-mama “yeah baby”, but after the second or third time I had to stop and figure out what she was so insistent that I notice. I was certain there was not an “ow” (read: owl) in the tree saying “oooooh” (read: hoot, hoot). But after following that pudgy little finger right up to the tree bark, sure enough, there it was. An owl. In the tree. Well, on the tree. And granted, it was aluminum and nailed to the trunk and it wasn’t saying anything, but Pumpkin recognized the owl, knew what it said, and was trying to let me know.
Since that little wake-up call reminding me that Pumpkin was a cognizant observer of this world and not just a little baby, I’ve paid a lot more attention to her “mamas” and her finger-points. And in fact, when I don’t snap to, she has graduated to reminding me with the occasional “mom.” Sometimes it’s just a fire drill, of course, like last week when I got a series of “mom,” “mom,” “moms” spaced about two-counts apart for the fifteen seconds until I finally acknowledged her, at which point she just waved and said “hi.”
Further evidence that she is no longer a baby is her new obsession with babies. After spending the weekend at the beach with her new little cousin Ava, Pumpkin has been all about the “bay-bay.” Yesterday I even bought her first real baby doll, complete with bottle and crying sounds (why am I torturing myself) and she spent half the night giving “bay-bay” her “cup.” Last night we couldn’t even go to bed without bringing “bay-bay” and giving her some “cup.” And let me tell you how downright hilarious it is to try and give “bay-bay” a big girl cup. You have no idea. I will say, while there are no plans on the immediate horizon (sorry Nance), it sure did make me feel better about the possibility of any future little Browns that each time Ava would cry, Pumpkin was there to offer her own paci, hug and kiss her and try to make her feel better. She would even offer a hug to whomever happened to be holding the baby when she started crying. My daughter is both brilliant and caring, what can I say?
Now that we are back home from our travels, we are getting ready for Halloween. While it isn’t technically her “first” Halloween, it is her first Halloween as a real participant and not just a crying lump in a costume. This year Pumpkin picked her own costume. I laid the magazine in front of her opened up to the toddler page and she pointed to the puppy dog costume. Done. Took a lot of pressure off of mama.
Little did I know that there were other Halloween pressures aside from costume-selection. Now that she is in a room of little people and not the aforementioned crying lumps, her class is going to actually celebrate Halloween. There was a note on the door that each parent should bring an individually wrapped “treat” for the celebration. Of course, I immediately go into over-analyzing panic mode. I want Pumpkin’s treat to be on par, but I have no idea what those other moms bring. As soon as I get to work I’m on a recognizance mission. I pose my question to a room full of male attorneys. The dads have no clue. I try to explain that I just want to be sure I’m not “that mom” that the others talk about. I don’t want to be the one with the crappy toothpaste and floss kits, but I also don’t want to be the with the over-sugared chocolate that no 18-month’s old mama wants them eating. Pumpkin’s treat had to be good, thoughtful, healthy, and fun.
Finally I talked to a mama who informed me that some of the moms go so far as to make homemade treats and individually wrap them themselves. I asked her if she knew of anyone I could pay to do that. One of the men from my office looked at me and said with a completely straight face, “you ARE that mom.” So, I spent my entire lunch break at Target trying to figure out what in the world to bring. I wondered helplessly through the three aisles of Halloween junk on the verge of a break down. I settled on a little treat bag full of individual packs of animal cookies, raisin boxes, and sheets of spooky stickers. Next year I’ll have a head-start, maybe I’ll make them each a candied apple or something. Or at least pay someone to.
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