Dear Paisley: Month 16

September 2nd, 2011

Alright you… who are you and what have you done with my baby? In general you’ve been a perfect little Paiser Pais this month. However, there have been days that make me want to pray to the Lord Baby Jesus for what awaits us when you turn 13… or 3. There was one evening in particular while eating your rice and beans at Chipotle (that they give us for free! Thank you!) where your attitude had taken such a turn for the worse that your dad dropped his fork, looked at me, and with all the astonishment he could muster said, “She’s You! It’s genetic!” Well, why it took him 16 months to figure out that your personality is a clone of mine I’ll never know, but what this means is that you and I have a stormy future in front of us. Hurricane Irene (google it) is going to feel like a dance in the streets on a rainy day, I fear, compared to the butting of heads and battling of wills that will take place in our home.

I say this not to be like, “Well, Pais, this was fun. You’re cute and all, but we’re bound to hate each other. Hugs and kisses, mama.” I say this because I grew up with all of that same angst, fury and battled wills with my dad. It made for very turbulent teenage years, a few adult years too. Even this morning when you sat with me in bed screaming NO NO NO NO NOOOOOoooOOOOOO because I simply wanted to hand your blanket to you (THE NERVE!) I just smiled. I know what it’s like to hate mornings, and to feel such frustration with your parent you want to grab your Seventeen Magazines and very best T-shirt and march out the door, and I will love you anyway. I know we’re going to fight, but I’m going to love you anyway. I’ll understand it, I’ll see through it, I’ll blame my genes, I’ll blame the hormones, and hopefully, HOPEFULLY, you will too. You and I have some monumental head butting ahead of us, but we’ll be OK.

When you aren’t throwing fits of rage because we’re trying to feed you, wipe your ass, or bathe you, you’ve taken up dancing. This time, you can blame your father for those genes. It’s either the weeeeee-spin-in-circles kind of dancing, or the drop-your-booty-to-the-ground-and-bounce kind of dancing. Both are equally adorable, and both put a huge smile on your face. You say “dance! dance!” while you do it.

We survived KoskiePalooza ’11 this month. Fourteen Koskies, two dogs, three days, one house. I was excited for your first big cousin visit, you were less than interested. You pretty much kept to yourself, playing quiet and dainty like usual. You got lots of Oma and Papa snuggles, rides on Grandma Polly’s and Papa Rudy’s scooters, even a few snuggles from Aunt Heather, and refused to give Uncle Keith the time of day. I think the big kids were a bit much for you, but next year, I think you’ll be ready to join the anti-sharing, hair-pulling, and general horseplayery that takes place in the den-now-playroom.

One of the big things that happened on that trip was how many times you told me you needed a diaper!! The first time I thought it was cute; the second time I thought it was an interesting coincidence that you asked at the same time you’d soiled your diaper; by the third request I was catching on. Upon our return to Wichita, you were the proud new owner of not one, but TWO, potty seats (One for each bathroom, of course.) We plopped your tiny hiney on that seat and you thought you were a really big deal. Heck, I thought you were a really big deal. LOOK AT MY BABY ON THE POTTY!!! We’re not forcing anything, we’re letting you lead the charge here. You frequently ask for new diapers when they’ve become dirty, and just this morning you picked up your potty seat while I was doing my hair, patted the real toilet seat, and said “Potty!” When you ask, we sit. The rest of the time, we just have elmo decor in our bathroom. Good job big girl!

We took a little road trip. Finally, just the two of us! It was completely uneventful, which is just the way I like them! It was a bittersweet trip. In July we lost Papa Nick to cancer. You never got a chance to know him, and I think you both missed out. He was a pretty funny guy, liked giving the granddaughters candy, and kept Grandma Ann mostly in line. You and I went to Grand Lake to help Grandma pack so she could move back to Wichita. We also got to spend the day and night with one of my best friends, Sarah. I hope you’re as lucky in life to have friends like her, the kind that stick around for years and feel more like sisters. You had a great time playing with Liam and Lydia and made quite a mess destroying their toy room. Then, we got to have a big birthday breakfast with Uncle Kyle and Aunt LaRenda; he ended up paying for all of us. Like how I worked that?

You seem to have a name for everyone these days. Your vocabulary knows no bounds, and I love hearing you discover new words, especially the ones you make up! Jenna is Nenna, Felicia is See-Shaw, Ellie is Eh-ee, Jessica is Ca-Ca, Grandma sounds like Mama but is definitely a little different, then there’s DADDY!, and Oma and Papa are down. Oh yeah, and Mama. I’m not gonna lie, the way you say it with your teeny tiny voice makes me fall in love with you every time I hear it. It is my favorite word of all of your words. There’s such emotion in it every single time.

My favorite change in your routine is our mornings together. It’s always been Cry > Mama Gets You > Daddy Gets Milk > We Lie In Bed > Everyone Falls Back to Sleep. Now, we lie in bed while you drink your milk and then you throw your arm out, pop me in the face with your zippy, say Done!, and then roll/crawl your way to my chest. You then climb on top of me, with your fuzzy of course, and curl in to a little ball on my chest and stomach, and fall back to sleep. And there we stay for 30 minutes, sometimes, an hour, sometimes more. I absolutely eat it up. It’s my favorite part of the day with you, as mornings have always been. Next week I go to New York for a week and I’m dreading the return home to find that you have some new routine and you don’t my snuggles any more. Then again, maybe you’ll need them more than ever.

I love you my sassy little bug.