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| Susannah Mae- One Year Old. Also, Apple Juice Thief. |
My Little Little is a year old today. The Monkey, the Buttercup, the Sunbeam- all her. All one year old.
Over the past year, I’ve waxed poetic about how wonderful an addition to our family she is, how much she’s changed me as a person, and how thrilling it is to have created siblings. So I was wracking my brain a li’l bit to choose how to best regale her on this momentous date (Ten four, good buddy).
Then finally it hit me. The reasons why I love this nutsy aren’t your typical things a mother loves about her [not so babyish] baby. Here are three:
-She has a temper. And it’s gonna get real over here, someday; because it’s always the pleasant, happy-go-lucky ones you’ve gotta watch out for. The kind that can be playing paperdolls with her sister, nice as you please; and in a moment, when one is “borrowed” from her hands, a cross between a primal scream and a harpy’s shriek will ring out. A shaking, red-faced beastie takes the place of my sweet Zuzu in these moments, looking for all the world like a wronged woman. Occasionally the storm will blow over. Other times, she’ll stare at her sister until Nora gets creeped out enough to hand back the offending item. When it’s really, truly over, Zu will smile the purest of beams at her sister. She usually manages a signed “thank you” and a vocalized ba of acknowledgment. (Because let’s be honest: Nora has a tendency to be a Bossy McBossboss in her daily life. Anyone who can hold their own against that– especially considering the general lack of solid balance and/or a set of teeth- has my respect.)
-She is inappropriately funny. Because she knows exactly what she’s doing. If you ask her to laugh, she’ll throw her head back and imitate a guffaw. (Then she’ll watch you out of the corner of her eye to make sure you’re laughing at her laughter.) She’ll wait until Nora is about to finish a story then, with expert timing, derail her train of thought with a loud monologue of “Mama” and “Baby” and blown kisses. We’ve seen her stop and start, all dependent on when Nora is about to begin speaking again. And we really shouldn’t laugh at stuff like this- we know we shouldn’t. But that business right there is funnier than Night Court.
-She is a daredevil. Yeah, usually this kind of thing strikes fear into a mother’s heart (mine included). But again, I’ve got to give her props. She has yet to manage more than one and a half steps by her lonesome, but that doesn’t stop her from pulling herself up onto the couch. Standing on the bathtub faucet. Climbing up the jungle gym and stepping into space just to see what happens. She was being uncharacteristically fussy at the park the other day until I understood what it was that she wanted: she’d rather I didn’t catch her at the bottom of the slide anymore, thanks.
And I realize that this list paints the picture of a completely exhausting and high maintenance baby. That’s that funny part; because she isn’t. She’s a smallish sandpail full of love (and, more often than not, actual sand), ready to give an effusive mwah or a pat pat pat at a moment’s notice. She’s independent and happy to explore. (Sure, she’ll probably empty the fridge by the time she’s done, but she won’t take up any of your personal time over it, and that’s my point.) And she quietly listens to every single thing that’s being said. (Most likely to be used in the dossiers she’s compiling, because seriously if it isn’t the quiet ones you’ve hafta keep an eye on…)
But those attributes I’ve listed pop up now and again, and we can’t help but see the incredibly cool person she’s becoming. Not baby. Not toddler. We look at her (in all of her freewheeling enchantment) and recognize that she’s rapidly growing into a person whom we already respect and adore.
And sure, laugh at a little bit.
Because Good God, she’s hilarious.
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