All right; school and rush jobs for work have settled, I am over my stomach flu, and so I’m finally editing and posting Owlet’s 25-month post, and backdating it. It seems that I didn’t take many pictures this past month, so I am sharing ones taken by Scott and my father, too. (They take better pictures than I do, anyway.)
In general she is perky, strong-willed, and cheerful. She is obsessed with bagels. We have finally hit the toddler whimsical nature when it comes to eating — some nights she will just shove the plate of supper away, even if it is all things she loves. HRH introduced her to Shreddies, which she thinks are just marvellous, and the idea of cereal with milk, which she loves eating off his spoon. (She’s not so fond of it in her own bowl, however.)
She has been at daycare for a month now. She’s attending three days a week, and she loves it. She will frequently repeat the names of all her friends and teachers to herself while she’s at home doing something by herself: “Go June’s. Jacob. Ella. ‘Lista. Baby Ryder. Cahanne. Play.” There are never tears when I drop her off; in fact, I usually have to call her back for a kiss, or even just to take her coat and shoes off because she just walks right in and starts puttering about. Integration went so well in the first couple of weeks that they started potty training the kids the second week, which meant that our cloth diapering has pretty much stopped, other than naps and outings when she’s home.
I’m actually kind of frustrated about toilet training at the moment. She was in a good place in the late spring when we started working on it at home, but then summer happened, with everyone home and the daily routine all topsy-turvy and lots of distraction, so she regressed. And now it’s even worse; while she cheerfully sits at “cool,” she violently refuses to at home, so we’re backing off a bit here.
The toddler stubbornness is becoming more evident in other ways, too. We usually go down the front steps together, with Owlet holding on to the railing with her right hand and my hand with her left. When we left to meet Sparky at school the other day, I locked the door and held out my hand to her, but she waved her hand at me in refusal. “Go away,” she said. “Go car, Mummy.” And she would not budge until I went down the stairs and stood by the car. She went down the stairs on her own.
When she wakes up in the morning, gone are the days of half an hour of quietly talking to herself and her animals. No, now it’s a very imperious “AAAAAAALL DOOOOOOONE” a moment or two after she opens her eyes. Her favourite books are what she calls Princess Bag (the Paper Bag Princess), Toads on Toast, and Mud Puddle. She loves to sing, and her favourite songs right now are “Six Little Ducks,” “Rock-a-bye,” and Raffi’s “Peanut Butter Sandwich” and “Brush Your Teeth.”
She’s starting to make her toys kiss, which is charming. She made HopHop wave goodbye to the cashier and then the packer at the grocery store the other day when they said goodbye to her, with a deadpan expression on her face. She didn’t say anything to them — she usually chirps a “Merci” or “Bye!” as we go — just waved the bunny’s hand at one, then the other, very deliberately.
Her attitude and awareness of her toys has shifted in a very interesting way. She held HopHop out to me the other day and said, “Talk, Mummy.” So I looked at the bunny and said, “Hello, HopHop. How are you?” “Snack,” said HopHop. I glanced at Owlet, but her eyes were on the rabbit, too. “You’re hungry, HopHop?” I said. “Peanut butter crackers,” said HopHop. “Those are a bit too messy,” I said. “What about some goldfish crackers?” “Fish!” said HopHop, very pleased. And then I looked at Owlet and said, “Would you like some too?” “Yes! Fish!” she said. So I got a little bowl of goldfish crackers, and I made sure to give it to HopHop and reminded him to share with Owlet. It was the first instance of Owlet pretending one of her toys was interacting with a real person and playing along with the pretend.
She got some PlayDoh for her birthday from Jeff and Pasley, and she loves squishing it between her hands and cutting out all sorts of shapes.
For the longest time when you asked her what colour something was she’d say “blue” right away. Then she added “purple” to her repertoire of answers. But a couple of weeks ago she held up a yellow crayon and said “yellow” unprompted, and she said something was green the other day. But most of the time things are still blue or purple.
She eats cherry tomatoes by the bowlful outside, standing by the garden and reaching a hand toward them, asking “Daddy? Mummy? Eeeyam? Matos?” She loves having freshly pulled carrots, too, going over to the bucket by the hose to rinse them off and then crunching away on them. She will swing for ages in our little wooden baby swing, saying, “Whee, whee, whee” as she goes back and forth happily. Moving large pieces of gravel from one place to another is still one of the most wonderful games in the world, and dropping them in the water bucket is a thing of joy. We have to keep an eye on her, though, because I found her sitting in that water bucket one day. It was a tight fit, and she couldn’t get out very well. I wonder how long she would have sat there in the water before calling for help if I hadn’t noticed her. (This isn’t the bucket; it’s a snow saucer! The kids pulled it out for water play on another day.)
She’s in size 7 shoes, size 4 pull-ups (they’re just that much looser and easier to get up and down), size 3 to 4 tops and mostly size 3 bottoms. I’ve thrown my hands up at most clothes sizing, actually. The dress she insisted on wearing last weekend was a size 4 and she was swimming in it, but she got a size 4 top for her birthday that barely fits. There is no rhyme nor reason to it all.