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October 29, 2007
When You're Two, the World Makes NO Sense
I just love living with a two-year-old. You're treated to frequent and inexplicable bouts of falling down on the floor and crying. You get to hear "thank you" pronounced "FANK you." Spaghetti is somehow morphed into a gas pump. Sharks live in your car (the Bug is kind enough to catch these sharks each day and throw them back in the sea). Your daughter can marry a koala (out of nowhere, the Bug often states that she wants to have a "koala wedding" and "marry a koala"). You can wear stripes with plaid. And best of all, you've always got a hug when you need one.
We had a nice weekend without Daddy, who went to an old friend's wedding in Baltimore. Saturday night we made dinner with a friend who was also solo-with-children for the evening. Homemade pasta, garlic bread, and Mary Poppins after dinner. The kids (Bug and twins who turned 3 in September) watched, rapt, for about 30 minutes, then slowly spiraled into bedtime meltdown. It's so awesome to watch the Bug start to interact with other kids. A spontaneous round of ring-around-the-rosy, or watching the three of them hold hands and jump up and down (a skill the Bug mastered just this last week) is really cool. Your own child just seems so often to be the most fascinating creature ever created. I realize that however difficult the constant needing and clinging is, before I know it she really won't need me anymore. I just love her so intensely that I somehow feel this as a loss already. That all-consuming, truly unconditional love is as terrifying as it is comforting, in no small part because of the risk of its absence.