Yesterday our little Natalie turned two. It was a big deal - to everyone except her. Adorably innocent, she didn't know what a birthday was and had no idea how old she was (though that part might run in the family). She waited patiently to open her presents. She was thrilled with her alphabet outfit from Grandma Tractor and gasped when she saw her new Cabbage Patch Kid. She's precious and very funny and we all had a sweet day.
Except for big brother, who couldn't appreciate what we were appreciating. None of the gifts were for him? It wasn't his birthday? Can't he just have a balloon? Or a new toy? Why is it not his birthday? What am I getting him for his birthday? Such moanings were ringing in my ears all day. I'm sure it's hard to be 4 and to know what birthdays are and to see a big stack of presents that are ALL for someone else. (Though he later learned there was one hidden up there for him, it did little to satisfy his inner turmoil.) But his persistence was exhausting.
Natalie has turned into one of the most charming little things I've ever seen. She's strong, sweet, funny, loving and provokes her brother all day. She'll spend 30 minutes playing in running water at the kitchen sink - "Need wash my hands," she'll say. "Need soap, Mom. My hand, right here." She prefers to wear a shiny blue cape and run around as "SuperNat". She likes to color, breaking at least one crayon each time. And she loves food. Candy in particular. We have a vintage cloth book called something like My Pocket Book with a variety of real pockets sewn into each page. I showed her how to use the book by putting buttons, candy and tiny things in the pockets. She never forgot about the candy. Now she brings me that book almost every day. "Need candy, Mom." What's a mom to do? I give her candy. Annie's organic fruit gummies. It's still a dose of diabetes, but it's ORGANIC diabetes.
In other news, we are getting ready to welcome a third tiny person to our family in August. I'm delightfully nauseated as I write this, eating a KIND bar at 12:30 a.m. to stave off the pukes. Pregnancy is pretty awful. Though, since this is likely my last pregnancy, I made the decision today to try to enjoy it. That should be easier next trimester. I still get random flashes of jealousy when I see men engaged in their daily doings. Men, who can never get pregnant. Men, who can never fathom the long-term disability of pregnancy. Men, who don't understand why when their pregnant wife asks them to buy PHILADELPHIA CREAM CHEESE AND ONLY PHILADELPHIA CREAM CHEESE they must not bat an eye at the price or notice the off-brand offerings. We are not eating that. Forget about it.
Sam knows about the new baby and is anxiously awaiting his/her arrival. Today he made the baby a large collection of tiny pink balls of Play Doh. He considered it his work and took it seriously. He thinks they will really please the baby. He was not impressed when I stuck some of them on the frame of my glasses.
This is life and we are living it. Rather nauseously, and often at decibels believed to be humanly impossible. Please come over.
No comments:
Post a Comment