I have been posting lately about the trials of parenting, but I don’t want to fail to document the many moments in every day when I think, “This is wonderful. I wish I was video-recording this. Can time freeze right now and Sophie stay at this stage for-ever?”
As I wrote on facebook a few days ago: One of the unexpected joys of motherhood is watching Sophie watch a snail.
Also, simply holding her hand.
Another unexpected joy is listening to Sophie tell a story. “And then the monster put boogers on my feet!” she exclaims, before another five minutes of very-energetic, nearly-incomprehensible babble, usually involving Doctor Meow, an ambulance going to rescue Tom Cat, and Sophie fiercely bossing around all the monsters, robots, dolphins, and airplanes that she can think of.
Sophie thinks, right now, that the worst possible insult, worse than “poopy-head,” is to call someone a “pickle.” And she thinks this is hilarious. I’m inclined to agree.
Sophie is showing my tendency to be great at leadership but not so good at followership. She frequently asks to visit my yoga studio, then changes her mind and decides to invite me to HER yoga studio. I hadn’t thought much about this, until a friend pointed out: it’s not really customary for kids to have imaginary yoga studios. Sophie’s yoga studio, she has told me, is pink.
Sophie is careful to remember other people’s favorite colors. Mom, purple. Dad, green. Now that we have declared our favorite colors to her, everything she draws for each of us involves those colors. It shows a socially-aware generosity that impresses me. But if I mention that I’m starting to like pink, she gets defensive. Pink is her favorite color, she tells me, not mine.
Sophie likes to color “S” and “O” for Sophie, and then she likes to ask how to color the names of all her friends. She’s generally a narcissist — I think all two-year-olds are — so I get particularly impressed whenever she does show the deep interest in others that she is capable of.
Whenever she puts on something new, she generously announces, “I’m going to go show the mirror.”
She’s getting better at petting our persnickety cat and she is so so proud of this.
She likes to pretend to change the diapers on all her baby-dolls.
In addition to pretending to go to yoga, Sophie also likes to pretend to grade papers and do dishes. Whenever she picks up a pen, she tells me, with great self-importance, “I’m doing my work.”
She has big plans for when she grows up: “When I get bigger, I’m going to like coffee. And beer. And hot-sauce.” She’s also planning to use the big spoons in the drawer, when she gets bigger, take showers instead of baths, and take her first job decorating the cakes at VG’s bakery. She’s already big enough to get out spoons for everyone before we sit down to dinner, and this simple chore makes her so wonderfully proud.
After she saw a pregnant woman the other day, she told me, “When I was a baby, I was in your tummy. And when you were a baby, you were in my tummy.” The sheer snake-swallowing-its-tail of that thought boggles me, and, somehow, delights me.
Falling asleep the other night, she turned to me and said, “Momma, you’re my friend.”