Tank Girl

Lucine,

I don't get to write about you as often as I'd like. I think about what I might say often, but don't get the time to put it down with the pretty prose I think you deserve.

Tonight Dada and Nana were out at the ball game and I got a very rare few hours with you all to myself. Don't tell your brother, but I'm looking forward to Nana going to school in the fall. The few days I have off are spent with both of you, which is great, but I don't get the one-on-one time with you that your dad does.

You and your dad are spending a lot of time together these days. He's home a lot and therefore your primary caregiver. He may not be working very much, but the wonderful plus to that is that he gets to spend these glorious spring days with you, wandering the neighbourhood, hitting the drop-in, delighting in circle time and blueberry-stained hands.

I come home to your glorious "Mama, mama" and take a moment to take you in. Your wispy, flaxen hair all shagga-shag around your adorable face. Your big brown eyes and delicious unibrow. Your red lips outstretched in the biggest smile on the face of the earth. "Hallo!" You greet me with your unique blend of enthusiasm and aloofness. "A kiss for Mama?" I ask hopefully. "Naaaaa..." you reply, squeezing your eyes shut until your eyelashes stand out straight as matchsticks.

You love Elmo. WTF dude? What do you see in him? The first thing you say after denying me my kiss is "Elmo?" Then you run to get the remote, hand it to me and sit in your brother's Batman chair, waiting for me to do your bidding. Should I try to ignore your request, you melt into a puddle of tears, then rush to my arms to be comforted.

If I spend some snuggle time with your brother, you will drop what you're doing, say "Mama" and then rush over, trying to peel him off me. If he refuses to get out of my arms you will punch him in the face. If I try to make room for both of you on my lap, you act all snuggly and then you kick Nate until he cries or leaves. One time you even grabbed his hand and bit it vengefully.

I try to scold you, but it's futile. You look at me sneakily and do whatever it is I am asking you not to do. Or you fall into despair, burying your head in my knees, begging for redemption. I HAVE to act mad because that's my job. But I secretly champion your naughty streak, because there's something about bad girls that's so awesome (in the true sense) and fierce (and so unlike me).

The hilarious part is that you and your bro absolutely adore each other. Each night after you bring me countless books to read you, you beg to say goodnight to him one more time. You hug him and kiss him and wave "Ba-ba" to the boys before you and I get our special time together.


You have a little OCD bedtime ritual with me and if I don't do all the steps in exactly the right sequence, you won't go to bed easily. If I do manage to get the bedtime code right, you happily hug your Blablas and wave goodbye to me.

You are in love with books -- one of the few things we have in common. I love our bedtime ritual because it's the only time you are content to sit still and share an activity with me. I get to smell your freshly washed hair and feel your wee feet kick against me with excitement.

For the "baby book's" sake I'll write down that your favourite books are:

1. Anything in the Mr. Men series, but particularly Mr. Funny because Mama makes a good funny face.
2. Amy Krouse Rosenthal's Duck! Rabbit!
   
3. A plush version of Pat the Bunny (where you get to move a mini-bunny through the story).
4. Papa Small, which makes me feel guilty that I'm not a 1940s country housewife.
   

But because you're funny like that, you probably read three totally different books with your dad each time.

The mornings are rushed and sometimes this upsets you. From the moment you wake up calling for me, it's a battle between you and your brother. Who will get the hugs? Who will get Mama all to themselves before she hops in the shower? You are both clingy and I am frustrated, trying to prepare for the stressful day ahead and swallow down my guilt at leaving you.

But oh, your little hands on my face... your chubby body as you tremor with giggles... your raspy whisper as you make a stuffed bunny "Hhhhap" or want me to call up your "Popop." How I relish these days at the end of your babyhood, on the cusp of your girlhood. This is the most perfect you, before the problems of life start, while your innocence is still unblemished. You are loving life girl and it's impossible not to be swept up in your glee. The world is better for having you in it.

Doubtless, you will blaze the path to your destiny, while I sit on the sidelines wishing I was more like you and holding my breath as you push the limits of every rule, boundary and obstacle that appears in your way.