Wednesday, November 16, 2011

“I don’t eat real fish, I eat food fish!”


Little Miss turned three this past weekend. Three! Did you know that three-year-olds jump up in classification? They’re no longer toddlers. They’re preschoolers. Apparently, I’m one of the last people to know this. And I’m also a little sad and sentimental. Where did my newborn turned infant turned toddler go?

The girl who stands before me is lean, long and wiry. Her baby fat melted away with the toddling feet that wouldn’t stay still. When I hold her these days, I feel awkward parts that jut out to poke me in odd places, quite unlike her chubby baby sister who is all rolls and curves with her snowball-round frame.

Little Miss, once a petite newborn at 5 lbs 12oz, is now all lanky limbs and mouth, tailing our every statement with her perpetual whys. Yes, she’s definitely curious.

And she’s funny (although I don’t think she means to be):


On the morning of her birthday, Little Miss spent some special time with her dad (while I frantically pulled the last-minute party details together) at the Shedd Aquarium where she bee-lined for the sharks, her obsession du jour. My Guy reported to me that she had asked about their dietary preference (not her words) and upon his explanation while pointing at the fish in the tank that sharks eat fish, just like she does, she responded in earnest, “I don’t eat real fish. I eat food fish!”

Right. Hmm…let’s see, how do we gently break the news to her?

* * *

As with most preschoolers, she’s very literal:

Upon passing the neighborhood laundromat, my daughter pointed, “Look mommy! What’s that place called?”

“It’s a laundromat. That’s where people do their laundry. You know how we have a washer and dryer in our house so we can do laundry? It’s the same thing. That’s why it’s called a laun-dro-mat.”

“Laun-dro-mat. But we don’t have a mat…”

* * *

Mmm…cake pops…

She’s also defiant. And smart. But when you put those two together…

Me: “Get in your bed Little Miss. You shouldn’t be playing at bedtime, you know that.”
Little Miss: “I’m counting money to put in my piggy bank. I’m not playing cuz you said money is not for playing.”


* * *

And she’s definitely goofy.

SugarHighOne too many cake pops later…The poster child of sugar high

My favorite Little Miss moment happened earlier this summer, when she was two and half.  To get this story, you have to know the words to the nursery rhyme, “Goosey Goosey Gander”, and in case you don’t, here it is:

Goosey goosey gander whither shall I wander,
Upstairs, downstairs and in my lady's chamber
There I met an old man who would not say his prayers,
I took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs.

Little Miss liked the rhyme and easily learned the song by heart. One day, My Guy was telling us that he had to move his office from the 8th floor to the 3rd floor because of a change in his position at work. As part of his simplified explanation to her, he mentioned, “My boss moved my office downstairs.”

Without skipping a beat, my daughter looked at him, a little worried, “Why daddy? Is it because you didn’t say your prayers?”

It took us a second to put the two together, but when we did, we cracked up. Ah, the innocent, captivating mind of a three-year-old!

* * *

I suppose it’s a trade-off like everything in life. We have exchanged the baby fat and cuddliness for these sometimes funny, sometimes ludicrous moments that only a preschooler could conjure.

I don’t think it’s a bad deal. At least I get some chuckles out of it. Or goosebumps like when she first declared,”Daddy is my best friend.”

Awww… My Guy (or Any Guy for that matter) is not the melting kind so I melted for him. It didn’t surprise me either. As tough and no-nonsense as he is with her at times, he also makes her laugh the most so he would be the natural choice.
But that doesn’t bother me. As long as she still lights up when she sees me, I’m a happy mama. And a fiercely proud one at that.

Happy birthday Little Miss Full of Wonder. Three becomes you.