Yarden's language skills are continuing to grow. She is trying to learn the difference between "Daddy's beard" and "Daddy's beer." She has picked up a couple of things from the new daycare for better or worse. On the upside she is clearly making words plural intentionally, such as "dog" vs. "dogs," or "boob" vs. "boobs,"; and on the down side she has picked up a penchant for declarative sentences like "Daddy sit down!," (which usually includes a push); "Give me that!,"(which includes a pointing gesture); and "I want beard." (or "beer" - I'm not sure).
The outstanding highlight of the week was this morning. It started with the incomparable and delightful sound of Yarden singing to herself in her room. Aliyah and I quietly crept down the hall to peek in on her. She caught us and smiled that really awesome kind of smile that happens when she sees Aliyah or I and that lights up a room... and then she stood up. That was when we noticed she was not wearing her pajama bottoms. Or a diaper. And then we saw there was a lot of poop in places that poop should never be: on the sheets, on her hands, on Purple Monkey, and there was a vaguely cute poop-outline of her butt on the headboard.
We know this is not a very exclusive club. (My parents have a favorite story about me painting the walls by swinging a full diaper over my head like a lasso; I love the Delvecchio's story about Lina being very tidy about the way she soiled her own bed.) Somehow we have to get Yarden to understand not to do it again, and probably to agree to use the potty before going to bed. It’s not an insurmountable challenge but Sleepy Yarden is the wildcard version of Yarden, and because of her pedigree if she doesn’t want to do it then there is no amount of dog and monkey stickers will convince her otherwise. Maybe we’ll just get her some union-suit-style pajamas until we figure this out.
We didn’t need any coffee that morning; the thrill of cleaning it all up was enough. And the clean up lead to Yarden’s new favorite activity: washing hands. It is difficult to understate Yarden’s enthusiasm for washing hands. We have to lock her out of the bathroom. Yarden's obsessive hand washing would test a grandparent's patience. It's a problem most parents would like to have, but the other edge of that sword is it goes hand in hand with the new streak of not listening to direct instructions. I think she's been punished more for that than anything else recently, (and, interestingly, the more she is punished the more she is affectionate; this has been one of her most affectionate weeks and I'm not sure how I feel about how that bodes for her future but right now I can only roll with it) and by "punished" I mean she has to sit in a toddler-sized chair until I get bored of watching her sit or I have taken enough deep cleansing breaths that I remember she's not even two yet and she's not doing whatever it was too purposely make me angry (and by angry I mean makes me see bright red spots and get so tense it feels like my head is literally going to pop off of my neck).
It's really more of a time out for me.
The defiance has created an somewhat-but-not-really-irrational fear in me that she will somehow burn herself. Of course she could burn herself; that part's not irrational. In fact she has. She touched the ultra-modern built-in wall heater last week. (She's fine. It's the best technology the 1930s has to offer.)
My fear is more of a horrific "Tom and Jerry"/Vietnam napalm carpet-bombing charred-to-a-jet-black-cinder fear. I haven't gotten much sleep for a couple of weeks because of a reoccurring dream. In the dream I am sleeping and Yarden has her back to me. I smell smoke. I realize she has gotten a hold of matches and is lighting them one at a time. I yell at her to stop but she keeps lighting the matches. Usually I wake up when I'm walking across room trying to stop her.
What does this mean? It means that it only took 22 months of parenthood for me finally go crackers. I'd love to hear other parents' reoccurring nightmares so feel free to share in the comments section.
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