Molly Blogging

Vivienne,

You enchanting child, you. Every day I watch as your personality reveals itself a little more, and I grow more enamored with you. 

Still— I worry that I’m not capturing it all. The funny expressions, new words and gibberish that makes sense to no one but you. Little things that make up all that is Vivi.

With that said, I hereby attempt to extract some of these moments and record them here. Besides, from everything I hear about the terrible 2’s and 3’s, I’ll need something in writing to reflect back on and remember the good ole’ days.

The head tilt.

Viv, since you were old enough to display head control, you’ve had this lovable habit of staring at people straight in the eyes, then cocking your head at 90 degrees and studying them quite seriously. If there was a speech bubble by your head, it would say something like, Hmm, what are you all about, anyway?  The head tilt never fails to entertain audiences.

Early bird.

You like to reach your milestones in a hurry, which always catches me off guard. One day, I walked into your nursery to wish you good morning and nearly keeled over from shock when I saw you standing up in your crib, grinning up at me. This may not sound like a big deal to you, but for me? Huge.

ELMO!

At almost 15 months, you’re rocking about a 20 word vocabulary. Without a doubt, one of your favorite words is Elmo. You don’t so much say the word as you sing it—joyously. EEELLLMOOO! We make you say it over and over again because it sounds so cute. You may as well be the first toddler to ever utter this magic word.

Award-winning blowout.

I apologize in advance for any future embarrassment this one causes you, darling. It’s just that your epic blowout of all blowouts stands out in my arsenal of early Vivi memories. I’ll spare you the dirty details, but let’s just say that this blowout was so elephantesque, I nearly missed the flight we were about to board when you let loose. I just remember desperately trying cleaning up the mess in the ATL airport bathroom as your Daddy texted me, “Where are you??” and “Everyone’s boarded!” And mercifully, “Pilot’s waiting on you.”

Sniffy Face.

I refer to this expression as “sniffy face” because that’s exactly what it looks like. You scrunch up your nose as you rapidly inhale and exhale for several seconds at a time. It’s inexplicably both hilarious and adorable. It’s like some strange form of baby yogic breathing.

Stair Obsession.

You. Are. Obsessed. With stairs. You want to go up them—and down them. And repeat this process 47 times. Occasionally, you give me a mischievous look and act as though you’re going to hurtle yourself down from the top step. You find this hilarious, while I find it terrifying. 

Fats Domino, aka Mama.

During a recent visit to a friend’s house, you fell in love with an art piece featuring various jazz musicians of New Orleans. Over and over again, you pointed to the photos of them, and whenever you landed on the one of Fats Domino, you said, “MAMA!” Why? No idea. I’d like to think that I don’t bear a resemblance Fats, but you never know. Maybe there’s something there.

The Food Drop

This one here is your first attempt at rebellion. At nearly 15 months, you have a grasp of what “no” means—which is exactly what I say to you every time you reach out your arm and dangle your food into the air. 

“No, Vivi. No ma’am.” I say.

That’s when you get the look that reads: Oh yeah? Try and stop me. This here food’s going on the floor. And you smile smugly as you drop the food. On the floor. Then you let out a cackle and I have to turn my back to laugh, as to not encourage you.

AHHH.

After a particularly satisfying gulp of milk, you say, “Ahhhhhh”, with much gusto. This never gets old for me. 

Mama.

You don’t get sick very often, but when you were about 9 months old you contracted a lovely case of “hand foot and mouth disease”. After we recovered from the shock of your diagnosis and were reassured that wasn’t nearly as scary as it sounds, we went about the business of getting you better. One night you woke up at 2 AM, screaming bloody murder. I ran downstairs, gave you some acetaminophen, and held your feverish body as I rocked you to back to sleep. At one point, you looked into my eyes and uttered the sweetest, most beautiful, heartbreaking little “mama”. Then I cried all over you. 

I don’t think any mother ever forgets their first “mama”.

The Look Back 

You’re an independent, willful thing—something I’m wildly proud of. You trot all over the place, tearing into anything and everything, acting as if you’re completely unaware of your audience. But every now and then, you flash the “the look back”. You check to make sure I’m still there, watching you—smile, and get back to the business at hand.

The Vivi Dance.

Whenever you hear a song that you like, you bend your knees, squat a little, and bob up and down, smiling. It looks kind of like a little old lady dance, and it’s just stupid cute.

Music Class

In music class, sometimes you stay in the circle formation. Other times, you decide you want to be a superstar and venture into no man’s land. You step right into the middle of the circle, and there, you tilt your head and smile at everyone around the room. Once you’re satisfied with your celebrity status, you make your way back to the outside of the circle with the little people.

Rocking Out.

There’s no greater dork session than that of your Daddy and I rocking out with you in the kitchen at mealtimes. When the Pandora station plays a particularly good tune, our house turns into a really bad dance party. We whip out all of our cheesiest moves and compete to see who can entertain you the best. Alas, no— I cannot supply a video at the moment. I do have my limits as to how far I’ll go to humiliate myself, sweet girl. 

Vivs, there’s so much more I could list here, but this post length is getting a little out of control. Don’t worry love, I’ll keep writing. 

Vivienne kind of broke my heart this week. I came home from work the other day and greeted her with my usual giddy enthusiasm, waiting for my favorite megawatt grin and “Oooh, ooooh. OOOHHH, Mama!”

Instead I got a whole lotta of nothin’, because she was too busy being completely fixated on her Dad. I figured she was playing hard to get—maybe it was payback for me coming home a little late from work. So I plopped down next to Daddy on the couch and waited for her to acknowledge my existence. Again—nothing. She was too busy giggling with him, grabbing onto his legs and staring at him in pure adoration. 

I tried, ”Hey, Vivi! Can Mommy have a hug?? Mommy missed you soooo much today! Come see me!” She graced me with a 2 second grin, then promptly turned her attention back to Daddy, who was trying to conceal his amusement—and let’s face it—his pride, about being the sole recipient of Vivi’s attention. 

This trend continued throughout the evening, disproving my theory that it was just a temporary thing that would wear off. Just as I’d talked myself out of being oversensitive about the whole affair, Vivi twisted the knife. 

“Vivi, it’s bathtime! Mommy’s gonna take you to the bath to see rubber ducky! Won’t that be FUN?” I said, attempting to pry her out of Daddy’s arms. Not so fast, mama. She let out a bloodcurdling scream and threw her arms out as she reached for Daddy. Bewildered, I gave in and let her go back to him. Then she looked at me square in the face, smiled and said, “Buh bye.”

I immediately recalled SNL’s David Spade in his famous Total Bastard Airlines attendant skit and his dismissive “Buh Bye.” (“I’m sorry, what part didn’t you understand- the buh or the bye? Buh-bye.”)

Daddy, unable to contain himself, bursted out laughing. Seeing that I was unamused, he said, “C’mon babe. You have to admit that was funny.” 

“Yeah, funny for you. I just want to know who this child is and what she did with Vivienne.” 

I’ve heard some of my friends talk about this sort of of thing happening—this sudden treachery in which your child develops a preference for only Daddy. Logically, I know it’s normal. Still, when she violently twists out of my arms in an attempt to go to him, it stings a little. But once the sting wears off, I’m able to let go and watch the two of them together. I see how good he is with her, snap back into mature mommy mode, and remember that Vivi/Daddy bonding is a beautiful thing. 

So my new mantra is: I will not be an oversensitive, needy parent. Hmm. Maybe it’s more realistic to say: I will try to not be an oversensitive, needy parent. 

Here’s a collection of my favorite moments from our Easter trip to Richmond:

I love this one. It shows off Pappi’s beautiful garden and captures Vivi in a rare moment of stillness.

Cousin Georgia loved her Easter basket and toted it around like a fashionable purse. I could eat her.

Grams has a stage 5 clinger. Vivi adores Grams and follows her around everywhere.

Viv and Grams at the park. 

Beautiful Aunt Mindy with Vivi. 

Aw, Georgia and Vivienne playing together in Georgia’s playroom…they’re beginning to interact more now that they’re a little older. I could watch them play for hours.

There are so few photos of me and Vivi, so I attempted to take one of us myself.

Aunt Rachel looks on as Georgia and Vivienne dig into their Easter stashes. 

Dad and Jeff join in a symphony of wood flute magic. 

I had to make this one my Facebook cover photo. It really captures all that is Vivi. 

Mindy, Adrian and Georgia. 

My happy girl.

I have the distinct feeling that my daughter is well on her way to being a tomboy. Give her the opportunity to play with mud, dirt, mulch, or rock, and she enters a state of full-on toddler nirvana. This video is from a birthday party we attended over the weekend. Every time I attempted to pull her away from the dirt she screamed as if she was in physical pain. So, the dirt won.

It’s uncomfortable for me—this whole letting go and letting dirt. After all, I spent the first year of her life maniacally trying to keep her and everything surrounding her clean. Am I supposed to suddenly embrace this dirtiness?

There was another Mom at the party with 3 adorable, rambunctious red-headed girls. They ranged from ages 3 to 10, and all of them seemed to share Vivienne’s fixation on digging in the dirt, only coupled with a fascination for bugs and other various earth creatures. At one point the eldest of the three had four caterpillars crawling on her, and her mother told me: “Oh that’s nothing. Watch this video on my phone.”

I watched as she played the video of her giggling 3-year-old holding a squirming cockroach in each hand. Seeing my horrified expression, she explained, “Oh, I didn’t know until she turned around that she was playing with cockroaches. You should prepare yourself, though. They get into all kinds of disgusting stuff.”

Sorry, but aren’t I supposed to automatically bypass this stuff because I have a baby girl?  It seems like a fair tradeoff given the fact that she’ll be a teenage girl one day. Was there a loophole in my baby girl contract?

I think Vivienne’s daddy secretly loves this. By this, I mean the whole act of watching me stare helplessly as I realize that 1. I’m no longer in control; 2. that Vivi has a mind of her own; and 3. that her mind causes her to pick up large handfuls of dirt and pour them over her head. 

Uh, so does the dollhouse and tea party phase come next? Or shall we move straight on to cockroaches?

Today is one of those days that I’m so tired, I’m actually dizzy. I spent the last 48 hours in a miserable stomach flu induced coma. I know the word “literally” is abused and overused. But I literally could not leave the bed- I was that bad off. I remember thinking:

This right here is why people get bedsores. This is why they make hospitalized folks turn over several times a day.

The worst part was that I could hear my baby girl—okay, fine, toddler girl— laughing and fussing and playing and just being generally adorable downstairs with our nanny. When nanny was done for the day, daddy took over and I dragged ass downstairs so I could lay pathetically on the couch and at least be in her vicinity. 

Now I’m back to work today and I feeling like I haven’t see Vivi in ages. I ache for her. It’s occurred to me that as a working Mom, I take the time that I do have with her and savor it like a drunk sucking down his last drop of vodka. It’s all flying by much, much too fast in technicolor flashes of sippy cups and Elmo. It’s maddening really. So fine, all you Moms who warned me about this…this time warp thing. You can have your big fat ‘I told you so’. 

All I want in return is an extra 10 minutes with her. 

I wonder: will I ever be the kind of writer who has the courage to get this raw? Yes, the Bloggess is hysterical. For me, writers who elicit genuine laugh our loud moments are few and far between, and she’s one of them. But beyond that, she’s completely unafraid to expose her vulnerability. 

Already, I have posts building up in drafts box that I’m too chicken to publish. My hope is that my bravery will grow in time. I’m like a child staring at a freezing cold swimming pool in May— scared to take the big plunge. Maybe if I just edge my way in, one body part at a time, I can find my comfort level. And with it, my voice. 

But enough seriousness. Have you ever read my all-time favorite post by the Bloggess? It’s likely you have, considering that it went viral and received nearly 4,000 comments. It’s titled ‘And that’s why you should learn to pick your battles’, but it’s really about a giant metal chicken. Enjoy.  

I’ve been so swamped since I’ve been back from SXSW, I haven’t had time to post. Let me say that those 5 days away from my family were—well, like missing a limb. 

It’s incredible how much she changed in just a few days. Suddenly she’s repeating my words and walking 99% of the time. More to follow…

Jeff and I have an ongoing argument about Vivi that tends to get heated. Like yesterday, for example. He was feeding her a snack, and gave her a piece of food that was too big. Cheeks full, she tried to work her mouth around it and failed. 

Me: Dude! You’re feeding her pieces that are way too big. Do you want her to choke?

Jeff, annoyed: I am NOT feeding her pieces that are too big. She’s fine. We do this all the time.

Me, panicked:  What do you mean you do this all of the time? Nearly choke her?

Jeff, more annoyed now: No Molly. I do not nearly choke our baby. I feed her this snack all of the time, and it’s never resulted in any hospital visits.

Me, defensive now and slightly whiny: I know you think I’m paranoid but I just want to make sure that you’re aware of what she is and isn’t capable of chewing.

Jeff, tuned out: You’re right. I do think you’re paranoid. And when you get like this it makes me feel like you don’t trust me. You need to trust me. I know what I’m doing.

Who’s in the right here? My best guess: neither of us. He could stand to be a little more careful, and I could stand to be a little less fearful. It may be that I do need to trust him a little more, and it may be that he needs to placate me a bit more. 

Jeff’s a great Dad- truly. Vivienne lights up around him. And I’m always amused by the state of things when I return after he’s been on daddy duty. Typically, she has spinach or some vegetable on her face and mashed in her hair. Her shirt is on backwards, and she’s wearing one sock. But she’s smiling from ear to ear and having a blast. 

I think I’m jumping on his case more than usual because I’m about to leave for 5 days to go to Austin, Texas for SXSW. Maybe my subconscious is driving me to nag the hell out him in an effort to insert just a sliver of my neurotic behavior into his.

It could be argued that Jeff and I form the perfect combination of laid back and neurotic, culminating in some kind of happy medium. If both of us were like me, Vivi could very well wind up developing a fear of… well, everything. 

But I digress. It’s inevitable- in two days I have to let go of control and leave Vivi in Jeff’s capable hands. Still, I’m comforted in knowing that I can continue to nag him in some fashion via Skype and Facetime. 

And every day, it’s something new. Clapping her hands, teetering and tottering… throwing a more grown-up, mature brand of tantrum. She’ll hurl herself face down on the floor, spread eagle, and howl. Is it wrong that I have to turn my head and stifle giggles when this happens? I’m sorry, but if you saw it you’d laugh too. It’s really so hilarious and dramatic. Sometimes I wish I could throw this exact brand of tantrum myself at work. 

She has a sense of humor, too. There’s definitely an element of naughtiness to it. I kind of love that- it’s like we’re sharing a private joke, though neither of us knows what the punchline is. We just laugh over nothing, which is sometimes the best kind of laughing. 

Some days I feel like I’ve got this mothering thing down. I smoothly chop avocados and apples, read brown bear brown bear, sing songs- moving from one action to another in a graceful sort of waltz. Other days, I question everything I do and berate myself for not being better somehow. Shouldn’t I have figured out preschool by now? Am I interacting with her enough? Should I be teaching her Japanese? 

Still- I think there’s something to be said for intuitive mothering. It’s the very same intuition that guided me through breastfeeding her, soothing her, and getting her to sleep in her infancy. God, I hope it’s there when she’s a teenager. 

In the meantime- happy almost birthday, my sweet girl. You are my world.