Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Shockingly, The Boy played nicely, even acting as a waiter while TG sat at the table! How he knew to do that, I have no idea.
The gender differences kick in early. She inherited many of The Boy’s toys, but she’s indifferent to almost all of them (except an Elmo cell phone and legos). But she loves her dollies, and the little tea set sent her over the moon.
TG is a charmer. A few nights ago we all went for a walk, resolved that the kids would walk the entire way. TG kept asking me to pick her up, but I held the line stoically for three of the four turns. On that final turn, though, her little face was just too much to resist, so she rode my shoulders the rest of the way, giggling at the altitude. It’s a dangerous lesson, I know, but there’s a level of cuteness that constitutes a kind of force majeure. I’m not made of stone, people.
For the big day, The Wife’s parents came over for a little celebration. When TW mused that TG isn’t a toddler anymore now that she’s two, The Boy chimed in, “she’s a twoddler.” (pronounced ‘toodler’) It’s a perfectly cromulent word.
TG is still young enough that we’re able to get away with avoiding a Big Party, so we’re having a series of little ones all week. My Mom came over on Sunday, TW’s parents came over yesterday, and TG’s little friends are coming over today. TG loves the attention, and thrills to every gift (unlike another child I could name, who tosses aside clothes as if they’re contaminated).
It’s heartbreaking to know that The Girl will never be this age again. She has been a remarkably well-behaved, low-maintenance baby – unlike another child I could name, who could be likened to a woodpecker on meth – but she’s slowly becoming a little girl. Someday she won’t even be that anymore. Twoddlers aren’t twoddlers forever. Someday she’ll speak in paragraphs, and decide she knows everything, and swoon over idiot teenagers, and pity her ignorant parents whose loathsome existence she tolerates only because she can’t afford rent.
But there’s time for that later. We took lots of pictures, and everybody stayed up a little late. We all climbed onto The Boy’s bed and read Happy Birthday to You, by Dr. Seuss. When I took her back to her crib, she contentedly went down for the night with her stuffed Grover in one arm and her stuffed Santa in the other. For now, all is right with her world. The rest can wait.
(And, for the record, in the pre-workday silence of my nearly empty office, I suppressed bellows of laughter until tears came to my eyes at 'a woodpecker on meth.)
Pistola turned 3 on Monday, and I have to say I went through the mix of emotions, too. I can get really weepy thinking about how she'll never be this age again. Right now she looks at me as if I am the most important and wonderful person on earth, and those days will end before I know it. But, as you said, there's time for that later. Today, the park awaits. :)
PS: Pistola also received a tea set, as well as a small dollhouse, and has been playing with them non-stop.
I'm glad you're enjoying your daughter as much as we're enjoying ours! Too bad we can't preserve a bit of this in amber somehow.
Is it nature or nurture? I leaned toward nurture, until we had fraternal twins, a girl and a boy. No way we had a single moment to nurture them differently, and the gender behavioral differences kicked in by the time they were a year old. Now I think it 95% nature.