These last few weeks have been unbelievable.
Somewhere between the time we packed you off in the car one morning, dropped you off at "school" and picked you up that evening you had turned into a child. We keep calling you baby, but it's only wishful thinking now.
In the span of what seems like six hours, but must have been more in the neighborhood of six weeks, you relinquished your babydoll voice with all it's velvety sweetness, four-word sentences and lovely uni-terpretations.
When you phoned your Ama, she didn't recognize your new grown-up tone.
Your thoughts now come in a gush instead of a trickle.
MOMMY: How was school, baby?
ANNABEL: I'm not a baby. I'm a big girl. Sometimes I'm a kid. Jacob put the rice in his mouth and Marcia said: 'No putting rice in your mouth.' She wasn't happy that he was taking rice out of the table. She said: Don't take rice out of my table please.' You ONLY eat rice that's food. Not shovel rice. I said that. But Kaylee wasn't there. MAD-A-LINE was there but Kaylee wasn't there. She had to sweep or something. I didn't know.
MOMMY: How about your other teacher, Pat?
ANNABEL: Pat? Pat wasn't there.
MOMMY: Pat wasn't there? Wasn't she there helping you with art projects?
ANNABEL: Pat? She? Oh. I though you meant the Pat who is funny. Sorry. She was there. But I didn't know. Did Pat who is funny bring back Pinky and the Brain, Brain, Brain? I wanna watch that sometime. I think that would be a GOOD idea. Who's donna get me some possipils later? We dot to det som possipils. I like purple and red and oran ones. And green M&Ms. Oh we don't need them. Silly me.
It's not only your words that have grown stronger. You whole body is taking a new shape. Your arms are filling out again in this cyclical bulking up and slimming down metamorphosis of childhood. You are noticeably heavier in my arms. Your grasp is stronger. Picking you up isn't as easy, and I find myself trying to negotiate more "down time."
Whereas your temper tantrums have increased in velocity so has your ability to understand the give and take of the parent-child relationship. More and more you are teaching yourself to calm down.
More than anything, however, it is your observation of the world passing by our window as we commute here and there that makes me want to hold you and press you into me until we are one person again.
Counting on the moon
I want the moon, Mama.
This moon is not full, mama, it's dust round. A moon is a moon when it has sides.
We have to fly up there and take it down. Bring it home to my room. It would be so happy with me. We could count and sing songs and you could read to us. He would be my friend, too.
Okay everybody, let's count.
One, TWO, three, four, five, sis, seben, eight, nine TEN, elephen, twelb, firteen, sisteen, sebenteen, sebenteen, eighteen, TWENTYTEEN.
I'm not sure how many times I told you I loved you tonight, Ittybit.
But I'm sure there must be room for one more.
I love you, boo.