Taking a Blogging Leave of Absence

My witty, beautiful, fantastic readers:

I haven't blogged for a while. And I'll tell you why. I'm working on a new novel, and I've been dedicating  more time to it. Because I really only write when Norah's gone to bed, or sometimes on my lunch break, I have decided to take that precious little time and use it to focus on the novel. It's really important to me.

I apologize if you're bummed out about this. I'm bummed out, too, but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. I'll still blog a little, but it will be with much less frequency.

And I'll still be out there reading my favorite bloggers! Look for me laughing in your comments area. Unless you're not trying to be funny. Then look for me being appropriately concerned or thoughtful.

I'll leave you with a quote from Norah, and my favorite Friday Story Time.

"You're not people. You're just a mom." -- Norah

It's Story Time: Goldilocks and the Three Bears

"This porridge is too hot."

"THEN MAKE YOUR OWN FUCKING PORRIDGE."

A Few of Her Favorite Things

I was at the office the other day when a co-worker asked me if I'm taking lots of videos of Norah. He told me he's so happy he did, and how his family loves looking at the videos just to see how much their children have grown. I can't stop thinking about that.

I do take some video, and a ton of photos. And this blog is meant to be a chronicle of her life as well. But I was thinking of making Norah a Favorites List.

How cool would it be to look at your own Favorites List from when you were a kid? Granted, I don't remember anything from age 2, but if I were to look back on some imaginary list from my childhood, I'd probably laugh at what I thought were the greatest things on earth.

Me as a Kid

Favorite movie: Annie, Goonies
Favorite song: "The Greatest Love of All" by Whitney Houston
Favorite color: Pink
Favorite books: Goodnight Moon, Little Women
Favorite stuffed animal: Princess the dolphin and Snoopy
Favorite food: Fun Dip
Favorite shows: Scooby Do, Thunder Cats 

Ryan says he doesn't remember that stuff. I was going to ask his mom what his favorites were, but she'd give me some bullshit answers (Oh, he was really into Dussek and String Theory documentaries.) when in reality, he probably liked He-Man and Bubble Tape just like the rest of us.

Anyway, here are some of Norah's favorites:

Movies: Ponyo, Wall-E
Shows: Scooby Do, Blue's Clues, Dora
Songs: "Twinkle Twinkle," "Stuck Like Glue," "A Dream is a Wish"
Books: Pajama Time, What Do Smurfs Do All Day, Terrible Kangaroos
Toys: Tow truck, balls (which she pretends are eggs or babies and puts them in Mongo's bed as a nest. She named them House, Kitty Ear, and Cogee.), kitchen.
Games: Pretend, Don't Break the Ice, Go Fish
Stuffed animals: Bear Bear
Food: Noodles and peas.
Spirit animal (yeah, I asked): Unicorn
Adventure: Visiting farms
App: Blue Birds (aka, Angry Birds)
Blanket: Yo Gabba Gabba
Doll: Go Go

What are some of your kids' favorites, or your favorites as a kid?

Toddlers are Weird

Here are just a few recent and weird things my 2.5 year-old has done and/or said.

Where: Target food area (I know, I'm an awesome mother and provider.)
Who: Norah and Me
What: We were sitting down, Norah eating chicken nuggets, me eating a giant pretzel. There were three flies buzzing around. 

Norah: Those are my buggy friends.
Me: Okay.
Norah: They love me so much.
Me: I'm sure they do.
Norah: Oh, buggy friends! Eat this nugget!

She tears a bit of nugget off and sets it on the corner of the table. 


Norah: Oh, buggy friends. Come here, buggy friends. Look, Mama! That buggy friend looks at me!


Another family comes in and sits at the table next to us; a mother, grandmother, and a girl around 4 years of age. The girl promptly starts running around the table, shooing the flies away.

Norah: NO! THOSE ARE MY BUGGY FRIENDS!

The family freezes and stares at Norah. The little girl continues shooing the flies.

Norah: NO! STOP! MY BUGGY FRIENDS! STOP!

Norah gets up and gets in Little Girl's face.

Norah: THOSE ARE MY BUGGY FRIENDS! LEAVE MY BUGGY FRIENDS 'LONE!

The mother and grandmother look at me blankly. Probably expecting some sort of parenting.

Me: Uh, the flies are her friends.
Norah: They love me so much.

Luckily, the mother and grandmother started laughing, and the little girl and Norah started to both talk to the buggy friends and all was well. 

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Where: In the car on the way to Grandma's.
Who: Norah and Me
What: I have no idea.

Norah: Our house is going to break.
Me: What?
Norah: Our house is going to fall down. It's going to break.
Me: Well, that's kind of chilling, Prophet-O-Doom. Why is our house going to break?
Norah: Because the other houses are mean.
Me: The other houses are mean to our house?
Norah: Yeah. And our house is nice.
Me: That's good. Being nice is a good thing.
Norah: Yeah. I want to go to the farm with Minta (her BFF).
Me: Okay, Honey. You tell Nana.

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Where: Target (Yeah, we go to Target a lot.)
Who: Norah and Me
What: Shopping for soap, wipes, a new pillow, and bananas.

Norah is dancing down a main aisle, heading toward the produce section.

Norah: Old MacDonald had a farm, and Bingo had a name-O! LOOK! A rocket ship!

She hugs a column/pole that has a service phone on it and probably supports the roof or something.

Norah: I'm in a rocket ship! 1-2-3 b'astoff!
Me: Let's get some bananas.
Norah: COME IN THE ROCKET SHIP.
Me: Okay, okay.

I grab the column.

Norah: NO! Get closer.

I get closer. Passersby are looking and smirking. 

Me: Okay, Honey. Off to the bananas.
Norah: 1-2-3 B'ASTOFF!
Me: I think it's 3-2-1 blastoff. Backwards.
Norah: 3-1-2 B'ASTOFF!
Me: Close enough.
Norah: Yay, rocket ship!

She promptly lets go of the column and stares hard.

Norah: You hold rocket ship. I'm pooping.

A couple alarmed looks from passersby. 

Me: Okay, Astronaut Baby. Then can we get the bananas?

Happy New Year

It's been so long, I'm not even sure where to start. How about some end-of-the-year Norah highlights from December?

Norah's first Christmas pageant
Colossal fail. She was sick and couldn't go. I am not exaggerating when I say I was devastated. She did, however, regale us with her rendition of Jingle Bells while dancing in the kitchen in her monkey pajamas.

Christmas Eve
She was still sick, and that made her a little sensitive. There was some drama until she got to tear into the five thousand, four hundred thirty-two gifts from my family. Then she was pleased. She also opened others' gifts and chanted "Rip it. Rip it. Rip it" because they clearly needed some encouragement.

Christmas Morning
The GeoTrax was a HUGE hit. She hugged it after a while. She loves playing "Choo choo" and also pretending to be the choo choo. When she hits the tunnel though, she throws up her arms and says, "Too big!"

Christmas Evening
Our first time hosting. Ryan's mom, and of course the small annoying dog, joined us for homemade pizza a la Ryan and more spoiling of Norah. She got loud musical instruments which she loves. Yay.

Norah turns 2
My tiny little baby turned two amidst all this holiday business. She got to wear a crown at daycare and was very pleased with herself. Her aunt and grandparents continued with the lavish gift giving as if I don't live in a 920 square foot residence. Note: when balloons start to droop, some two-year-olds freak out and think they're broken, crying, kicking them and screaming "No working! No working!" This is not fun.

New Year's Eve
We went to a friend's house and Norah got to party with her bff, Samantha, aka, Minta. After a giant chocolate cupcake, the chugging of apple juice, and some wild jumping with Minta on her bed, Norah barfed all over. Yep, on Samantha's bed. Wonderful. I guess it ain't New Year's until someone vomits. But it used to be us and from shots. This year we were home by 9:30. Pretty late for the short one! But it was fun. She wailed when we had to leave (She desperately loves my friend, Sara) but Sara's husband cheered her up on the way out and she was chatty and wired on the way home. We pulled in the driveway and she said, "No home! Party!" That's my girl!

Norah Loves Santa. Mommy Hates Shopping.

It's official. We can't go to any stores until well into January. Norah loves Santa and everything Christmas-y.

So, why deprive her of such joy, you ask?  Because when a toddler sees a shining, singing, sparkling, spectacle of a Christmas display, she never, ever wants to leave. When you say, "Come on, Sweetie, time to go," you will hear, "NO!" as a reply. When you say, "Honey, come to Mama," you will hear, "NO! NOOOOO!" And when the store is closing and people are forcing us out and threatening to call the police, she will throw herself to the floor, facedown, and throw the mother of all tantrums.

Okay, it was morning and we'd only been there for about 40 minutes, but it was lunchtime and we needed to go.

I don't even know how she remembers this stuff. She was just a few days under one last year when Grandma taught her "Ho ho ho!" and gave her a Santa ornament. How could she have possibly remembered that? But she bolted toward the Christmas display at Kohl's and bellowed "Ho ho ho!" to the glittering Santa ornaments hanging on white and green plastic trees. I was surprised, to say the least, but also amused as she went to each Santa object she found (chotchkies, ornaments, Santa stockings, snow globes, etc) and said, "Ho ho ho!" to each one.

Soon she was dissatisfied by just ho-ho-hoing. Now she wanted to touch-touch-touch. I tried to gently guide her hands away from the displayed items, but she got more and more irritated with my interference. She'd whip her hand away and squeal, and then find another item to break-- I mean, touch.

Now a group of little old ladies were browsing the Christmas section. At first we got a couple smiles. We usually do-- Norah is damn cute. But then as Norah started getting more rowdy and resistant to my pleas, we started getting those looks. You know. The my-child-never-acted-up-due-to-my-superior-parenting-skills look, or the that's-what-bad-parenting-will-get-you-look. I even heard one of them utter something about a "plug." I'm assuming the old broad was discussing my nearly-two-year-old's pacifier.

Okay. It was time to leave. Not only was it lunchtime, but I was dangerously close to telling some old bat to mind her own business.

"Time to go, Baby," I said quietly, crouching down to her level.

"Ho ho ho! Ho ho ho!" She blissfully galloped to the next display.

I must avoid a tantrum. Think, Heather. 

After bribing her with a number of things (we'll go find an Elmo toy, let's find more Santas, do you want some apple juice, etc.), I pulled out the big guns: "Should we visit Daddy?" Daddy works at a home improvement store, which is like Disneyland to a toddler for some reason, and Norah loves to visit. Grandpa works at the same store, so it's double awesome.

She broke out of her Christmas trance and looked up-- "Yeah!"

Then she turned to her Santa friends, as well as the sour old hens, and yelled at the top of her lungs, "Bye, Hos!"

Awesome.

Happy Day

We've been to a bunch of birthday parties, mostly because our friends, the Vix family, have seven kids in their family, four spouses, eight grandkids so far, and they like to party.

Because of this, whenever there are certain things around, Norah thinks it's someone's birthday, or as she calls it, "Happy day!" These things include: pizza, cake, cupcakes, ice cream, and balloons. Mostly it's cute, but it has caused some issues.

For example, I nuked some Smart Ones mini bagel pizzas for dinner one night while Norah and Ryan had some noodle casserole with meat in it. She thought they looked like cupcakes and chanted "Happy day! Happy day!" until I gave her one (I knew she'd just lick it and then be sad), and she just licked it and was sad. So, I lost out on food, and she started chanting "Happy day"again, but in a sad, disappointed tone.

Or when my mom made meatloaf that apparently looked like birthday cake. More "Happy day!" chanting, and then shock and devastation when the "cake" turned out to taste like meatloaf instead of chocolate.

Mostly it's cute, though. We went to a fundraising/celebration/party over the weekend complete with pizza, balloons, and a live band. Her new best friend, Kristi, even gave her suckers. She was pretty certain it was her birthday, singing "My happy day!" So either she'll think she has the best parents ever, hiring a live band and all that, or she'll be really let down on her actual birthday. We'll see. She fell asleep in the car, clutching her balloon. (Too bad that didn't last. She woke up completely refreshed when we got home and wanted to boogie instead of sleep.)

The next birthday, Tamara's, is this weekend. More sweets and fun! We're also camping. In October. In Minnesota. Yeah. I'll let you know how that goes.

Fear of the Week: Mean Kids

I have no idea what I'm going to do when Norah starts school. Probably fall apart.

On Saturday we went shopping for diapers and the like, and wandered into the toy aisle, so Norah could explore a little. There were two little boys there, and she ran up to them.

"Noonie," she said, patting her chest. She was like a polite little cave person, introducing herself. Me Noonie. You friend. 

They ignored her and walked away.

She followed and sort of positioned her self in between them and the toys they were looking at. "Noonie,"she repeated, beaming.

They ignored her again and walked away.

She trotted back to me with a perplexed look on her little face and motioned "up." I picked her up and rubbed her back. "It's okay," I murmured. "They are socially inept little neanderthal jerkfaces."

And that was nothing. Nothing! She would be damn lucky if that's the worst a kid ever did to her. Kids are monsters. They naturally contrive social hierarchies and ruthlessly administer daily reminders of caste position. The playground is Lord of the Flies at best. Even sweet, normally kindhearted children wield plenty of hurt if it means self-preservation.

I vividly remember coming home from school one day and running straight up to my room. There was a bully in my class and he had tormented me the entire day. I threw myself on my bed and wept, my mother not far behind. As I tried to explain to her the situation in between heaving sobs, I could tell she wanted to do something. She was just as upset as I was. She rubbed my back as I cried into my pillow and asked me questions she knew the answer to: no, she couldn't talk to the teacher or the bully or anyone. No, ignoring him didn't work. No, it doesn't help that he probably has low self-esteem and is trying to build himself up.

I can picture her desperate, pained expression even to this day. I bet if she ran into this kid-now-an-adult-and-likely-a-normal-person, she'd probably give him the finger.

And that will be me. And my sweet angel will be the one draped across her bed, soaking her pillow with tears. And I will envision bursting through the wall of the classroom like a deranged Kool-Aid man, kicking over desks until I make my way to the perpetrator. But I'll just listen to her cry, give her the same advice my mom told me, and my heart will break.

So, we've got that to look forward to.

I am... Noonie

While she generally tries to pronounce things the way they sound, Norah also has odd little words for a few different objects. It takes us a little while to figure out what she means. For example, we are to sing "The Wheels on the Bus" when she says, "Round-a-round!" "Bob Barsh" is Spongebob Squarepants. (Yes, she watches a little Spongebob. Judge away.) "Hoppy" is a rabbit. So when she started saying "Noonie," we tried to figure out what she meant.

A week or so ago I thought I had discovered the answer. We were playing our game Goodnight! Good Morning! and I put a little blanket on her.

"No! Noonie!"

I paused. "You want Noonie?"

"Noonie!"

I thought for a second. "Show Mama your Noonie."

She ran out of her room and we ended up in the living room, her clutching her favorite blanket.

"Is Noonie your blanket?"

"YEAH!"

I was pretty proud of my detective skills and let Ryan and Grandma know.

But then the other day I was holding her jacket.

"Noonie!"

"You want your blanket, Baby?"

"NO. Noonie jucka."

I paused. "Is this Noonie's jacket?"

"YEAH!"

Now I was a little worried. "Does Noonie want to wear her jacket?"

"YEAH!"

"Baby... are you Noonie?"

"YEAH!"

I told Ryan this revelation later. He rolled his eyes. Norah was cuddling on my lap. He asked her, "Norah, does your toe hurt?"

"Uh-huh," she answered absentmindedly, bending her Mommy Hugs a little backwards.

"Do you want a unicorn?"

"Uh-huh."

I snapped at him, "Well of course she wants a unicorn. Who doesn't?" I was convinced our daughter either had an imaginary friend, an alter ego, or another personality. All were a little worrisome. Mostly the personality one.

The next day happened to be Norah's 18-month appointment. Yeah, I know she's 20 months. I'm an idiot. We were seeing a new doctor, and our old doctor apparently chose this particular doctor because she's "laid-back." In other words, she thought we were kind of excitable. Anyway, after a few basic information questions, Norah warmed up a little and introduced us to Dr. Wendi. She patted me and said, "Mommy."

"Is that your mommy?" Dr. Wendi asked.

"Mm-hmm." Then she patted her belly. "Noonie."

Before the doc could say anything, I blurted out, "She's Noonie. She renamed herself. Is that normal? Can she just not pronounce 'Norah?' Does she have an imaginary friend or another personality?"

These possibilities suddenly seemed terrifying to me. Well, mispronunciation isn't terrifying, but imaginary friends are. I've heard a million times that it's not uncommon; that there are tons of kids who have little friends to talk to and play with. But I never had experience with that. Maybe I just wasn't creative. But the fact is, people talking to themselves, or to their made-up companions, freaks me the hell out. And multiple personality disorder is beyond terrifying. Years of therapy, medication, total dependence, the lost opportunities... I couldn't even let my mind dip a toe into that one.

My panicked eyes searched Dr. Wendi's face for any sign. Worry, sadness, stress, concerned, a twinge that would indicate she was worried but knew she had to be calm and professional...

She just shrugged. "Kids are weird."

The rest of the appointment was fine. The doc said Norah was very verbal and that she had lovely eyelashes. She left us to get dressed and I looked at Norah, dancing with her new little Curious George book, chanting "Mon-key! Mon-key!" and grinning.

I grinned, too. "Come on, Noonie. Let's roll." Kids are weird. Good lesson.

Full of It

I'm slowly starting to realize that Norah is a little person, rather than just my little snuggle monkey. She surprises me every day with her thought capacity, that is, what she all understands and how she makes decisions and her favor over one thing or another. It's amazing. I know it's kind of dumb, but it's difficult for me to think of her as a little person, rather than an I'm-hungry-tired-wet-comfortable-uncomfortable-amused little baby. She's becoming so much more complex.

And thusly, she has finally discovered that her mom's full of shit.

We were coloring the other day. She just learned the word "yellow," and now declares every color to be yellow. She triumphantly held up a crayon and pronounced it yellow, and I gently told her the real color. Then she went for another color.

"Yellow!"

"That's red."

She looked down, unfazed, and grabbed another. "Yellow!"

"Orange."

She dropped it and picked up a turquoise crayon. "Yellow!"

"Blue, Baby."

She picked up the blue one. "Yellow!"

"Blue."

Then her little brows knit together. She still clutched the blue crayon, but looked down with a frown and snatched up the turquoise crayon. Then she looked at me accusingly.

I had dumbed down "turquoise," thinking the word was too hard to learn right now. And now she looked at me like I was either screwing with her or I was an idiot.

"Yellow..." she muttered. Then she took the crayons and scribbled side-by-side, one in each hand, as if she was examining them more closely. Could Mommy be right? Could they both be blue?

I stammered, "See, Honey, they are both blue-ish. They're different shades of blue."

She lost interest immediately when Ryan came in from the kitchen, thankfully, and ran to him. Was this it? Was this the end? Had I lost all credibility? Was I no longer Mommy, Queen of the Universe?

If she sees a butterfly flitting around the yard, she squeals in delight until it disappears. Then she quickly turns to me with a deadly serious expression on her face and says, "More," while smashing her fists together (the baby sign for more). As if Mommy could wave her arm and make butterflies appear.

She points to all the images in all her books and looks at me expectantly to name the item. Curtain. Moon. Mouse. Clock. As if I'm the keeper of all the words.

She calls to me in the night when she can't get back to sleep, and knows that a few minutes snuggled warmly in Mommy's arms will do the trick. The Sandmom.

And now? I'm either a liar or a dumbass. Not very good options. But at least now I know that she's more clever than just a baby, and deserves to not have me dumbing things down for her. And hopefully she's still trust me enough to ask me what letters or numbers she sees. And to summoned more bunnies in the yard.

Happy Fourth!

Sorry it's been a while. New job. Ryan's new schedule. Excuses, excuses. Enough of that!

Since it's been a while, I'll do an update blog. What's new with Norah?

• She can go down the big slide at the park, much to my chagrin. 
• She can say "Yes," although she vastly prefers "No." 
• Other new words: pickle, buckle, blankie, suck (nice one, Heather), thanks, and sky.
• She really into dancing lately, and dances like the gal on Flashdance. She's a maniac! She is also bringing back Boyz II Men's "Motownphillly." Finally!
• She was brave enough to run through the sprinkler yesterday!
• She has a new Cookie Monster toothbrush, because apparently we felt she wasn't obsessed enough with brushing her teeth. Now we get full-blown tantrums after we cut her off after three baby toothpaste refills. 
• Speaking of, she can say her first sentence! "I nee MO!" Translation: "I need MORE!" 
• Daycare dropoffs have been tremendously better. One time, there were even no tears. It was awesome! And now instead of them saying "She needed a lot of hugs today" (translation: "She had a shitty day."), they say she had FUN! Woo hoo!
• The lead teacher in The Toddler Room just put her two weeks in! She is going to be a bill collector instead. That seems a hell of a lot more fitting to her personality. Peace out. 
• I discovered last night that perhaps the reason she doesn't go back to sleep after waking up in the middle of the night is her new air purifier. While it cleans the air and provides soothing white noise, blocking out the neighbor's great dane, the two red lights and glowing blue grill in front makes it look like the Devil is staring at her. I went into her room at 4 am and she just pointed and said "Eyes! Eyes!" Ok. That would keep me up, too. Let's turn that thing around.

That's all for now! Have a great holiday weekend.

MINE!

Norah learned a new word. Well, a new concept, really. And that concept is ownership.

It started a day or two before Memorial Day. She was sort of juggling Bear Bear in her hands and babbling, and then clearly said, "Mine." It was very sweet-sounding. Just as if she wanted Bear Bear to know that he/she forever belonged to Norah. We awwed.

Then we had a BBQ Memorial Day and invited a pile of people. Rob and Tamara are our oldest friends; since high school. They have two boys, Lincoln (4) and Will (2). Then Sara and John and their daughter, Samantha, who is just a month older than Norah. Kristi came bearing ridiculously spicy chips. Then our folks and my sister came by, too, to join the chaos.

Once Norah saw the kids run to all the toys-- her toys-- she froze. You could almost see something boiling up inside of her as her head moved back and forth across the yard. One kid in her sandbox. One at the water activity table. One had a ball. Norah's brow was furrowed. Then it raised with a sort of helpless panic. Suddenly, a shriek erupted all the way from her belly out of her mouth: "MINE!" A couple people near her stopped and looked at her. "MIIINE!" she screamed. Tears began swelling in her eyes like tiny balloons and spilled down her cheeks.

After some cuddling, a nuk, and some parent-assisted playtime, she was fine. She still would snatch something out of another kid's hands if she saw fit, and Ryan and I would remind her of the virtues of sharing, but after the initial meltdown, she had a grand time with her little pals.

So what if she didn't know the kids playing with her stuff? I overheard a mom conversation about park etiquette. If you bring something to the park, it must be shared with all children. One mom was smack talking another because her child wasn't sharing his truck with her son. Another was talking about how she brings snacks for other kids. Strangers. Just random kids. So, your toys are public property, if you bring food, you have to bring for all, and if you don't abide by these rules, you are ostracized? Since when did the park become the Soviet Union?

It makes me think of another mom comment I had heard somewhere. Why should kids learn to share anyway? Parents are always telling their kids to share. It's perfectly acceptable for other kids to ransack your house and monopolize your toys. You can't bring a toy to the playground and not share it with perfect strangers, even. Sharing is a keystone learning experience for all children. But if I went to the park with my iPod, the hell I'm sharing it with the jerk sitting next to me. Adults totally don't share.

However, I do think sharing is important, to an extent. Sharing with friends is good. Yes, I'll share whatever a friend needs or wants: beer, car, money, music, books, whatever. I like it when my friends come over and play. And sharing is clearly a good idea when it comes to charity and volunteerism and such. I have too much stuff. I want to share it with people who maybe don't. So, there's a balance, I think, as with anything. Share stuff with your friends. Share stuff with those less fortunate than you.

But don't share your shit with the strangers at the park. Tough. Maybe they should have brought their own toy truck.

Norah's Greatest Hits

This is just a short list of things my perfect angel does that makes my heart want to explode with pride/love/joy/etc. In case you want to know. Warning: this may get cheesy.

1. Says "poop" and laughs.

2. Spins until dizzy and then falls down and laughs.

3. Points to things that belong to either Ryan or I and says "Mama" and "Dada" accordingly. For example, she points to the Subaru and says "Dada." The Oldsmobile is "Mama." Diet Coke is "Mama." Dirty old jacket is "Dada."

4. She loves books. Adores them. And lately she especially loves one entitled Mommy Hugs.

5. She can say "more" and sign it, too. And when she's really desperate, like for more yogurt melts or Cookie Monster videos on the computer, she signs "please." I can't say no.

6. When she really likes what she's eating, she does a little dance in her highchair. My pal, Celine, hums or kind of bops around when she's eating good food, so it makes me smile.

7. She actually gets excited to wash her hands.

8. She just learned that hugs are good, and when she goes to hug you, she collapses into you very dramatically and throws her head back to see your face.

9. When she wakes up in the morning, she looks at you like she hasn't seen you in eons and is in complete bliss.

10. She shares her nuk and treats with her doll and stuffed animals.

11. When she sees Ryan and I hugging, she has to get in on the action.  She runs over for a group hug.

12. She always points things out to me, like at the grandparents' or at daycare, as if she doesn't want me to miss anything cool. Hey, Mom, look at that lightswitch!

13. And I should stop. I could go on for eternity.

Thanks for indulging me.

A Blee Ba Dibby Dibby Ya

I don't know what she's saying, but I like it. Norah has started saying what appears to be baby sentences. They have the same inflection and pauses as any normal statement within a conversation. She even talks with her hands! But they're gibberish. It's both cute and amazing. She's mimicking social interactions. Pretty soon real words will fill in the nonsense. *Sniff.*

With that is also emerging some real preferences. And with preferences come dislikes as well.

"Norah, would you like a graham cracker?"

"Umm! Umm!"

"Norah, would you like a didee?" (Diaper)

Shakes head violently, indicating "hell, no."

"Norah, do you want your cup?"

"Cah...up. Cah...up."

"Norah, let Mommy get your boogies." (Boogers)

She backhands the tissue out of my hand.

So I'm starting to really see that she knows hundreds of words. She may be saying, "A ya ya glee gah," but she truly means something else. She knows what a didee is. She knows what bathtime is. It's amazing.

And I'm sure you are reading this thinking, "Well, duh, idiot." But honestly, I'm having a difficult time realizing that my baby isn't a newborn anymore. She is growing physically, mentally, and emotionally at lightening speed. I haven't caught up. I still want to feed her and rock her, and she wants to drive my car to the mall to hang out with her friend Samantha. Well, a slight exaggeration, but it might as well be.

This may be why people have more than one?

PS-- house is slightly cleaner. Getting better... 

First words

Besides babbling and nonsense, the first discernible word that Norah uttered was "Dada." I read in my bible, Baby 411, that dada is pretty common, as it's an easy sound to make, and that the word wasn't even really attached to Ryan or anything. Still, he gloated. And even though every squeak and coo that emitted from my sweetie's mouth was perfect and beautiful, I would revel in it, and then narrow my eyes at Ryan a little.

Next came "Mama," and life was good. Although it was spoken considerably less than dada, I was thrilled to hear it, and still am. Other sounds were pretty random; ha, la, buh, duh, etc. Although she put ha-la-buh together once and I was pretty sure her first official word was "halibut." Impressive.

But now, at 13 months, she is really starting to learn words and associate them to things. It is pretty exciting. Maybe it's old hat to veteran moms, but she might as well be splitting the atom to me.  

The first I noticed was "ball." It was one of those was-that-just--?! moments. She held her little green ball and slowly said, "baaaa." And then again. And again. And then we asked her to find the ball, and she found it. It was amazing. I still maintain that her first word was "halibut," though, when I'm feeling competitive.

The next words were "hop" (her bunny hops) and "ah-choo." I'm actually not sure if ah-choo is a real word, but we're counting it.  Grandma has a plastic giraffe with a moving head, and apparently it sneezes a lot. So ah-choo comes after she sees a giraffe. Grandma's a little worried about that. Norah also screeches "Caw!" every time she sees a bird; bluejay, chicken, duck, it doesn't matter. Grandma's also a little worried about that. I think she'll have it all sorted out by high school.

But it's really starting to hit me. I am (and Ryan) the leader. I am guiding her. I'm the one who is primarily responsible for her learning. It's terrifying. I could be sitting around, watching TV, commenting on Sarah Palin being a fucking moron, and my innocent little baby could decide to say her Bear Bear is a fucking moron. That's not good. Aside from the fact that Grandpa wouldn't like me influencing Norah's political leanings at such a young age (even though I suspect that she gets a fair dose of Fox News at my parents' house), little kids spouting off the f-bomb is somewhat frowned upon.

Swearing isn't my only concern, of course. Do I want her calling people names like her petty  mother does? And what about politics? What about religion? What about opinions on pretty much anything? I am the leader. Language is only at the very beginning. There's attitude, confidence, expectations... deep breath.

Maybe I'll just be happy that she said "ball" and leave it at that.