Friday, 25 March 2011

Vingtieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

Eloise -

20 months old. In 4 months you will be 2. T-W-O. Today for the first time you demonstrated an understanding of counting. One. Two. Three. Four. You said. I followed with five and we were able to confirm that you did indeed have five fingers on your right hand and five toes on your left foot. You need to slow this growing up thing right down.

You are certainly a mummy's girl at the moment. Calling for me in the night when you wake.



Smothering me in the morning when we drag you into bed with us, letting your father sleep peacefully as you jam your elbow into my clavicle and fingers into my eye saying “awww, Mummy, Cuddle”. Though we have discovered that you would probably be more affectionate with your father if he didn’t have that prickly beard. You’ll very happily kiss him through the shower door, or kiss his hand when he covers his mouth. But every once in awhile you plant one on your daddy despite the beard, and it is an adorable sight to see.



You know it is going to hurt, but you’ve gone too long without kissing him and pain or no pain, you’re going to give your daddy a bisous. Then you touch your mouth, say ├ža pique and laugh. Ah the sacrifices we make in order to love the men in our lives.

We had parents night at your nursery a few weeks ago (which made me feel insanely old) and we’re pleasantly surprised by the feedback about you. The reserved, observant little girl who clings to her mother for twenty minutes before deciding she wants to join in is the girl who immediately makes friends with the new kid. The child who makes her parents run around the kitchen trying to find something she’ll actually eat has 2 helpings of lunch. The girl who will often make her mother spend over an hour trying to get you to take a nap is known as the best napper in the nursery.

The other day I dropped you off at nursery and we were greeted by three of your little friends, running over to see you shouting Ewoweeze! Weeze! Weeze! Ewoweeze! I am becoming increasingly aware that you are your own person, a real individual. And nothing brings that idea home more than seeing a room full of your cohorts call out your name.


You are more accurate, more deliberate than last month. Your dance moves are more precise. You can pick out songs on the radio and sing along. Your vocabulary is ever expanding. Some of your recent additions that I’ve really enjoyed are “pretty” (especially when said about me) “honey” “knock knock” and “jackass”. You can blame Grandma for that last one.

After you're in bed for the night, your father and I can catch up on our day, immerse ourselves in various time-sucks on the tinternet, cuddle on the couch with a glass of wine and a film. And for a brief moment, if feels like it's just the two of us, back to the early days of our relationship. And then I walk upstairs and see your bedroom door, hear the faint snores coming from your room and my heart swells with the knowledge that we are not alone. That our daughter is lying in her bed, surrounded by stuffed bunnies and dreams of stray cats and cuddles and messy adventures to be had. And in those moments I am reminded that becoming your mother was the best damn thing that ever happened to me.

Je t'aime.


Maman (Mummy)