Daisy at 16 months

Daisy had a doctor's checkup yesterday. She weighs 20 pounds, 9 oz (up to the 10th percentile) and is 30.5 inches tall (37th percentile). I had to say she was not yet walking very steadily, but the funny thing is that after the appointment (whilst waiting to get called back for her shots) she started tearing around the waiting room, walking more than I've ever seen her do and getting farther away from me than she's ever gone out in a public place. So--she is close. Very close.

The funny thing was that the Kaiser pamphlet said that our child "may be ready to say 3-10 words" and "express desires by grunting." I told the doctor that she speaks at least 300 words (and it may be more), puts together phrases and sentences of 2-3 words, and counts (to nine, although she usually leaves a few numbers out). I forgot to mention that she can say a few words of three syllables, such as "animals." And she doesn't do too much grunting to express her desires. She says, "Read, help, snack, nurse, baba, bath, nap," and a whole bunch of other words that let us know what she wants, including an emphatic "No!" which is very charming. Our doctor, who is very nice, said that was very impressive but I'm not sure she believed me. She seemed to think this would be very unusual if it were true. But it is true. And it's a good thing, since she's been so late in developing gross motor skills! The doctor asked if she knew any body parts and I said she knows all of them. I felt like a smart-ass student kissing up to the teacher by pretending to know all the answers. Oh well.

Her sleeping has been all altered terribly since our Thanksgiving trip. She woke up twice last night screaming and just now had a nap of the glorious duration of 30 minutes. I am tired. Now I have to go prevent her from re-programming my cell phone. Bye!

No!!!!

This is going to make me look bad, but I don't care. It's my blog and I'll look bad on it. I just found out that all part-time faculty have to complete the same "sexual harassment training" that full-time faculty do. I am so annoyed I can barely stand it. I know what all the arguments are for why we should have to do it; I know, I know, I know. And I have personally experienced sexual harassment, so I know it's a serious issue and that it sucks to have it happen to you. But I am STILL annoyed. More than annoyed. I am not going to sexually harass anyone. And I am BUSY. I don't want to do this. I want to do other things with my time. I don't need sexual harassment training. I don't need to be talked down to and "educated" in sensitivity by authority figures who don't know any more about this subject than I do and very likely know less. I went to the many hours long diversity training day a few years ago and really didn't learn a thing (except that, apparently, almost everything you do can potentially count as sexual harassment if you are unfortunate enough to get a student who really doesn't like you). I probably would never have written a post like this ten years ago, when I was more fully in the flush of moral outrage at the things that had happened to me, but, well, times have changed. MY times have changed. And-- my time is limited!

I guess I am just venting.

Crazy parenthood thing? (I'm so articulate today)

I was just reading the Kahlil Gibran poem "On Children" that Haddayr posted on her blog, http://haddayr.livejournal.com/352990.html, and it brought tears to my eyes. But it made me think of how differently everyone experiences this crazy parenthood thing. Some people I know wonder where in the world their child's disposition came from, and find the personality and interests of their child a fascinating mystery. For me, so far, it has been just the other way around. Everything about Daisy seems familiar, and sometimes in a way that makes me sad. Yesterday I was watching her scope out a plastic house in the waiting room of Pediatrics, clearly wanting to go over and play with it (she loves opening and shutting doors these days). But other, more assertive children were playing in it, and I couldn't get her to go over. Even when I went with her, she stopped short a few feet away from it and I couldn't get her to budge another inch, even though her eyes were fixed on it with desire. It brought back memories of me in kindergarten, desperate to play with a dollhouse that was always surrounded by other girls, never working up the courage to go over to it. The teacher though I was snotty or something, always sitting in a corner reading my book, but I was just painfully shy and unable to act.

But I think it would be a mistake to assume she's going to be just like us, and I'm glad that the Gibran poem reminds me of that. She is not going to be me. Or Mark. I can't wait to see her start going off in her own directions, or doing things that genuinely seem surprising to me.

So far... that's not happened. She reminds me of my real self, or sometimes the things I fear are lurking underneath my surface. I know it took me a long time to figure out how to get along in the world, to relate to people (I always wanted to relate to them, but for the longest time was trapped by shyness and insecurity). Now I tell myself it all comes naturally to me, but when I see Daisy, it brings back the fact that this was actually a long process. I hope she has connections with other people and that it's not as much of a struggle for her as it was for me. I hope she doesn't always retreat to a book because it's safer or easier. And at the same time, I love it that she loves books and gets extremely attached to them (she gives her favorite books hugs, as though they are characters in her life). And I like it that she's into words, and music, and sits and listens for hours sometimes to her favorite songs without getting bored. All those things resonate with me and remind me of our mother-daughter connection.

But it's good to be reminded that she is not me. I honestly forget sometimes. Now I am starting to see, from the other side finally, why mothers can have such a hard time distinguishing... why they get themselves all mixed up with their daughters. It must be painful to lose the symbiosis. I've already lost some of it, I know-- she is more independent, certainly, than she was during the first year of her life. But because she's still nursing, and because she's been so late to crawl and walk, it doesn't strike me all the time that she is not me, that she's trying to get away from me, that she WILL get away from me. I hope I can accept it and respect her as a separate person when the time comes to fully realize it.

Daisy as Icarus

Today, Daisy tried to fly too close to the sun on waxen wings. She came up to me with her incredibly annoying "Wheels on the Bus" book clutched in her hand, extending it and saying, "Read!" as we've taught her to do (she used to push books at me while making a loud whiny sound, so I find the "Read!" command infinitely more bearable). I took the book, getting ready to oblige her, and lifted her onto my lap. She said, "Nurse!" Ohhhh-kay, I thought, and went to put the book down. She clung to it tenaciously. "Read!" she commanded. I noticed she was trying to get into the nursing position.

That little devil! She had had the thought that there was no reason why she couldn't have her two greatest pleasures in life at the same time: reading and nursing. I swear to God, her plan was to nurse while having me read (sing) that book to her. As Mark pointed out, she was pulling a George Costanza, from the "Seinfeld" episode where he tries to combine eating a pastrami sandwich with having intercourse.

Hmmmmm. I have to say this is where I draw the line.

I finally parted her from the book, though she did much carrying on. She was very much in need of a nap, anyway. I took her into her bedroom for nursing. Then, I had her most of the way asleep when the phone rang. Her eyes popped open and she immediately said, "Phone! Ho? [holding her hand to her ear like a phone]. Dada! Dada!"

I was about to despair, but she went to sleep about five minutes later. I just love this new thing where she holds up a pretend phone and says, "Ho?"