"What're you doooooooin, Mama?"
"I'm cooking supper, what are you doing, Micah?"
Two seconds pass.
"What're you doooooooin, Mama?"
"Still cooking supper. What about you?"
Three seconds pass.
"What're you doooooooin, Mama?"
A couple of weeks ago, Micah and I had that conversation 500 times a day. Literally. If I sat down, she asked. If I stood up, she asked. If I put my shoes on, she asked. If I brushed my hair, she asked. If I picked up a book, she asked.
The questioning was constant and drove me up the wall.
Now she's moved on. She only asks me two or three times a day, but we've taken up another conversation in its stead.
"Somebody's hidin' in my woom, Mama."
"Who's in your room, baby?"
"A mon-ter's in my woom."
"There's not a monster in your room, Micah."
Pauses for two seconds.
"Somebody's hidin' in my woom, Mama."
This conversation ensues every. single. time I ask Micah to take something to her room. The first time we had it, it made me grin. The 689th time we had it, I wanted to bang my head against the wall.
In case you can't tell, her conversational skills are growing, even if she sounds like a broken record at times. She's at such a fun age. Every time I turn around, it seems she's learning something new. My jaw dropped the first time she pointed at a stop sign and told me that it was an ot-ta-gon, but really, I shouldn't have been surprised. I've been pointing at the octagon in her Elmo lift-the-flap book for months.
If you ask her name, she'll answer Micah Joooones. We started working on my and Dennis' names too, just in case someone asks her who her parents are. I didn't have much hope in teaching her my name, but she's getting there. If you ask her my name, she'll say Essie Ann Joooones. Poor Dennis is left out. She knows his name but refuses to say it most of the time. To her, he's Daddy Joooones.
She loves to eat and has an appetite like her mama. There's not much that she turns down, and it's funny to me that if there's broccoli on her plate, she'll eat it before anything else. She also loves Mexican food. Girl after my own heart. And breakfast. Also one of my favorites. Sometimes she eats more than I do, which is saying something. The girl can pack it away.
She's fascinated with the idea of being a big sister, and she insists that the new baby is a girl. Poor thing will be disappointed if Peanut turns out to be a boy. She likes to lift my shirt and look at my belly, and every now and then, she'll talk to the baby. Melts my heart.
She's pretty stingy about giving out kisses, but if I pretend I don't want one, she'll grab my face between her little hands and cover it in kisses.
I don't want to forget her at this age. I'll take the toddler stage over the baby stage any day. That's not to say that toddlerhood is without challenges. Last night we had a major meltdown over brushing her teeth. And she's obsessed with things matching. If it doesn't match, chaos will ensue. If she's eating an orange and the wedges fall apart before she pulls them apart, she throws a fit, but I can handle all that. The good far outweighs the bad.
I love this little girl. Can't imagine life without her.
Until next time, grace and peace.