Matching Tracksuits

8:00

We start cleaning up all the toys the Girl has managed to drag out. And believe me — in the space of about 3 nanoseconds, L can pull out every single toy in every single toy basket and toy box in a given room.

8:15

Bath time. L loves the bath. She doesn’t love getting ready for the bath. She gets testy, cranky, and whiny. But before we can take a bath, we have to potty. This could be optimized, but we’ll return to this later.

8:30

Bath’s done, dressing begins. This can take anywhere from twenty seconds to five minutes. Like most things, it depends on how cooperative the Girl is. She’s able to put her arm out in anticipation of having the sleeve of her sleeper slipped on. (How’s that for alliteration?)

8:35

Bedtime, with watered down juice and some kisses.

9:00

The girl wakes up crying. She stands up, flings the bottle to the floor, and begins howling. Time for Potty II.

9:10

Having had an enormous BM, the Girl is ready for sleep. At this point, the obvious hits: “L, why don’t you do your business before the bath, when I set you on the potty chair and wait in full anticipation?”

“Because that would make your life too simple, Tata,” is the probable answer.

9:15-10:00

Intermittent crying as the Girl tries to calm herself back down and fall back asleep.

During the last few days this evening, L’s begun doing several new things.

• While cleaning up, L chipped in. She picked up blocks, brought them to the box, and dropped them in — on request.
• L loves yogurt. Today, she reached out for the spoon while K was feeding her. With a little help and about five or six practice runs, L was more or less daubing yogurt on her spoon and then smearing it in the vicinity of her mouth.
• K bought L a little toy cell phone this afternoon. Say “Halo, halo” (you can probably figure out the translation) and L puts it up to her ear.

Her understanding of communication is simply exploding.

We’ve been working to teach L baby signs for months now. The books we read on the topic said the optimum age is usually around nine months, but we began from birth. Call us eager beavers or hopelessly optimistic about our daughter’s budding genius.

In the last few weeks, though, she’s really been picking up on the fact that we’re trying to communicate with her. The other evening, when L was reaching for her sippy cup, I sat down beside her and showed her the sign we’ve been using for “drink” — the motion of turning a cup toward your mouth, with thumb extended. She was fussy and whiny, but when she saw me point to the cup and then make the sign, saying “Drink,” she calmed down and seemed really to pay attention. I made the sign again, still pointing to the cup. She looked at me, looked up at the cup, then looked back at me. I balled up her little fist and helped her make the sign. In the past, when I’ve tried this, I got fierce resistance. This time, she relaxed and let me show her what to do. I made the sign again, then gave her the cup. The whole time, no tears, no whining, no fussing. I could almost see the thoughts bouncing around. “He’s trying to tell me something…”

I was in the living room, working on a contract writing project that’s been plaguing (and entertaining, not to mention paying) me for many months longer that it should have. K and the Girl were in the kitchen.

“Go tell Dad it’s time for splish-splash,” K said to the Girl (po polsku, of course).

I heard the pat-pat-pat of L’s feet (Have I mention L’s walking now, and has been for about a month and a half?) as she came into the living room. She looked at me, smiled, and flapped her arms in the air, splashing at the imaginary water — the sign we’ve been using for “bath.” She began giggling as she signed.

I don’t think I’ve felt that awed in all my life.