As you can see from the picture, Pumpkin is already trying to grow up way too fast – sitting in daddy’s chair and putting on daddy’s shoes. And believe you me, her grown-up-edness is more than shoe deep. As I think on her growing up (I admit, it’s almost as hard to imagine as the thought of ME being someone’s mom – I mean, aren’t I still a kid myself???), it just amazes me to realize that my little Pumpkin is soon going to have her own ideas, dreams and hopes, she is going to try and succeed, struggle and fail, she is going to win, lose, fall in love, get her heart broken. Those tiny hands will one day hold in wonder the tiny hands of her own sweet baby. Those tiny hands might also one day save the world, cure cancer, or hold a Grammy. The possibilities are truly endless.
I admit, I often get lost in daydreams about what exactly Pumpkin will be when she grows up. I’ve decided that in addition to being a singer, a dancer, an artist, an author, an actress, a beauty queen, a rocket scientist, a brain surgeon, AND any other darn thing she wants to be, our little Pumpkin is also going to be a world-renowned chef. The child doesn’t just love food, she loves all the various spices and herbs in an almost unnatural way. Seriously, it’s almost like the dirt-eating children from Alabama the way she craves her thyme (read: “tahm”).
At Nona and Pop’s house the spice rack is on the lower level of the kitchen cabinets and rolls out at the perfect height for Pumpkin to stand in front of and survey its contents. Without fail, when we are visiting, she will grab Nona’s hand and tell her that it is “tahm.” Then they meticulously inventory the spice rack, tasting each of the spices as they go and naming them. As you can see from the video, this girls knows her spices.
Oh and I forgot to add dentist to the list. Pumpkin is still bordering on obsessed with the cleanliness of her less-than-a-mouthful of teeth. Before I go any further, I want to make clear that I let the child (using the word let is almost laughable) brush her teeth twice a day. She stands there, I do the heavy brushing and then I let her hold the toothbrush so she feels like she is helping. She loves brushing her teeth; but my point is that there is no reason for her to sneak around to do it. We encourage dental hygiene, I swear. Apparently just not to Pumpkin’s liking.
One morning last week I heard her go in her room and shut her door – something she does on a daily basis when she needs her “me” time. I always go and open it a crack so I can make sure she isn’t doing anything dangerous and I typically walk in on her reading, singing to herself, or “cleaning” (taking a single baby wipe out of the dispenser – only one – and wiping everything in her room down from her baby doll to her crib rails). This particular morning, I moseyed back there and peeked in to find her with toothpaste in one hand (unopened thank God) and her toothbrush in her mouth. When she saw me, she looked sheepishly and then pointed proudly to her mouth and said “teeth mama.”
How can a mama even be upset about that? It’s not like I can discourage tooth-brushing. Same for the reading and the “cleaning.” In fact, what I need to do is to figure out a way to encourage these tendencies for the next fifteen years.
Speaking of fifteen years, Pumpkin has also taken to acting like one (a fifteen year old) on occasion. The other day I drove up to school to get her and they were on a “buggy ride” around the parking lot. Typically pick-up is a joyful time – Pumpkin runs to me, squeezes my legs, gives me a big “hi mama” and we start talking about her day. This particular day, she made eye contact with me while I was still in the car and, with a face as a straight as a board, looked away and refused to turn her neck in my direction. She was actually, literally ignoring me. Apparently unhappy with the timing of my pick up interrupting buggy time. Even the teachers noticed it. They have also told me that she has rolled her eyes at them. One of them told me Pumpkin was the most adult child she had ever seen. And keep in mind that these are women who work with 2-year olds day in and day out every year for the last decade or more. Boy oh boy, what are we going to do when she is actually a teenager and not just acting like one.
A few nights later, we had a night where Pumpkin wanted to sleep with us and we were forcing her to sleep in her room. What this translates to is her screaming at the top of her lungs for a solid hour. After I went in to explain the way it was going to go, she quit yelling for me and spent the next 58-minutes calling for “dada,” “daddy,” and any other form of the word dad you can imagine. He didn’t respond. We were trying to be strong. Eventually she fell asleep. Well, she may have fallen asleep but she did not forget because the next morning she wanted nothing to do with dada. In fact, I overheard him literally “calling a truce” with her. You laugh, but she knew darn good and well what he meant and they hugged it out after he acknowledged her anger.
She is a constant source of wonder, amusement, and keeping us on our toes. I just can’t figure out for the life of me where she gets her attitude. *wink*
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