2 ans avec Mademoiselle Eloise

Oh Eloise. My Eloise. No. Not my Eloise. You are very much your own. I know how commonplace and slightly boring it can be listening to parents go on about the mundane tasks their mini person can achieve, but it is hard to explain just how rewarding and inspiring it is to see someone who you created, who went from not being able to keep their own head from snapping off their neck to a little girl who tells me that a cow goes moo and puts her shoes on her own feet and who not only washes her own hands and dries them, but wipes down any drops of water she spilled in the process. A little girl who makes me laugh - intentionally and often unintentionally. A little girl who can challenge my patience, energy levels and priorities. A girl who can make me feel like the most beautiful and cherished woman in the world with the most gentle of cuddles.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll keep up these letters. I am more and more aware of the person you are becoming and I worry that you’ll be angry with me for over divulging our lives. But while I’m not sure how long I will keep this blog out there for the world to see, I do know I will always write you. I am the mother who will cry each time I see you sing in a choir. I will cry when you give me your first handwritten mother’s day card. Hell, I’ll probably cry the first time you get your period, so we both have that to look forward to. I’m a heart-on-my-sleeve, emotional sort, and becoming your mother has simply made my sentimental heart expand ten-fold. So I will always need to put my feelings for you into words. To not only let you know how much you mean to me, but to help me figure out how to handle having my heart live outside of me.

I wonder where we will be living, what you will be wearing, the day you start reading these letters. What will your voice sound like? What will your hair look like? What size shoe will you be wearing? What music will you be listening to? What will you feel when you read all that I have written about you? I just...well, to quote a man that makes far more money than me for the words he writes: I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is while you're in the world.

Vingt-troisieme Mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

Eloise -

Man, on your bad days you push me to limits of patience I have never been pushed to before, by far the most challenged I have ever been is during one of your tantrums, but on your good days? There is no one else in this world I would rather hang out with.

Your language is INSANE. All of the sudden you are speaking in sentences, bossy slightly caveman-esque sentences, but sentences none the less. Sit DOWN mummy. Daddy, no sing. Eloise singing. Eloise no like it. Mummy dance. Mummy running. Shhhh,Rabbit sleeping. Thank you Mummy!

And then of course there is the ultimate: I love you!!! ( I loff OOOO)

As these tantrums get more intense, you find a corner and just loose your shit - throwing whatever you can get your hands on, banging whatever surface is within reach, producing strange frustrated sobs, I am becoming aware that while the hard bits get harder, the good bits get AWESOME. To hear you tell your father and I that you love us? Makes the tantrums worth it. Ok, maybe not worth it, but tolerable. Really completely tolerable.

You are becoming less and less Eloise, my baby, and more and more Eloise the Person. Eloise, the half French Amercian born in England. Eloise the little girl who asks for cereal in the morning and ham at night. Eloise who loves Snow White and owls and cats and dogs and Nancy Sinatra's Sugar Town.

And yes, there are moments when I miss Eloise the baby, the little being so dependant on me, but that is eclipsed entirely by the pure elated joy I feel every day at meeting a little bit more of Eloise the person.

You amaze me. Je t'aime.

Mummy, Mommy, Mama, Maman,

Vingt-deuxieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

(Photos to come soon(ish) - still working on this whole job/home/blog balance)

Thank you Eloise. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You have made this transition between stay-at-home mom to “working mom” (starting to hate that term - like what I did with you the past 21 months wasn’t work?) (incredible work by the way - best job ever) so much easier than I thought it would be. And sure it hasn’t been entirely smooth, but I was expecting far worse. I should have given you a bit more credit, for being the adaptable and curious child that you are.

So far you haven’t cried when either your father or I have dropped you off at your nursery (By the way BIG UPS to your Daddy for doing more than his fair share in getting us all to our new jobs on time and back home in one piece each night). You’ve been clingy, which is fine, because let’s face it, I’ve been clingy too. But after you’ve stayed in my arms for a while, wrapping your arms tight around my neck, you take a look around, and I talk about how good the breakfast is going to be and how much fun it looks like your friends are having, and oh! Did you see those jungle animals hanging out and being awesome over there? And then you slowly release your grip and get swallowed up by different loving arms.

You have however had a handful of more difficult nights. It’s like you bottle up all your frustrations at having to deal with this change and save it for when you get home and you can unleash it on the two people you’re closest to. I guess we all do that. But to see you so angry with me was a hard pill to swallow. We’d finally wrestle you into your pyjamas (some nights literally wrestle - 2 against 1 and even then it would take your father and I 10 minutes to get you dressed, you got some moves kid) and then after reading 8 stories I’d turn out the light and hold you while you finished your glass of milk. You would pull my face close to yours, so that our cheeks were pressed up together, and then you’d keep pulling and pulling. Trying to get me even closer. I mean, I would have had to swallow you whole to get any closer. And then you got mad. Mad that we weren’t more together. And you started clawing at my face and hitting me - things I would normally scold you for doing, but this time I just let you do it. Let you get the frustration out of your little body and into the scratches on my face. And then you called out for Daddy and he came to finish putting you to bed while I went into my room and cried.

Luckily we’ve only had a few nights like this. On the whole you’ve been an absolute star and I can see in your social skills and language skills what a great effect nursery is having on you. And I’m really enjoying my new job, it is interesting and challenging and creative and I love that I am pushing myself in different directions. But make no mistake Eloise, the worst fucking part of this job is being away from you.

Je t’aime. Super hard kid.

Mummy

Vingt-et-unième mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

Eloise

I have recently been reminded of how precious and fragile this life is, and it makes me all the more thankful for you, and for the chance I have to write these letters to you. You have been a wonderful distraction while I mourn a friend, wiping away my tears and helping me to laugh again.

You seem to have shot up in size once more, I just noticed today how your legs seem to dangle from your highchair as if they should belong to a much older child. I could spend my whole life (and indeed I plan to) studying the different expressions your face can make. Every once in a while I catch you making a face that gives me a glimpse of the young woman you will become and it makes me equal parts ecstatic and scared poopless.

You are starting to build proper relationships with your little friends - calling them by name, shouting No! No! No! at them when they don’t play the way you want to, giving them unprompted hugs to say goodbye. At the moment I can safely say you run with a good crowd. I’m sure all parents worry about their children’s choice in friends - I know first hand how much damage a manipulative friend can cause - but if your early choices in mates is anything to go by, your Father and I will have nothing to worry about (ha!).

Some changes are going to happen around here soon, and it breaks my heart that I can’t sit you down and explain it all to you, that instead one day you’ll just see less of me and you’ll wonder why. To make the most of our time together before I become a full-time working mother, I took you out on a date, just me and you. You were an absolute star and I couldn’t have had a better time. In homage to your namesake we spent the night at the (Park) Plaza in Nottingham (the Presidential Suite Daaahling). We rode up and down the elevators and ordered roomservice with giant linen napkins wrapped around our necks. We went shopping and went out for lunch where all the grandparents sitting around us commented on how well behaved you were. We walked around the castle grounds, chasing squirrels with security guards and playing with little boys in school uniforms. In the morning we had coffee and milk in bed while reading the paper, then went down stairs for breakfast where the hotel staff fawned all over you. We went to the Museum of Nottingham Life and had the whole museum to ourselves, playing with dolls, opening kitchen drawers and walking through caves. I think my favorite moment was buying a copy of Vanity Fair for me and a jug of milk for you and watching you walk down Maid Marion Way carrying your milk and weaving in and out of the people trying to get home from work.

I feel so fortunate to bear such close witness to the person you are becoming, to see you stand taller and taller as you make your own path through the crowds.

Je t'aime.

Maman (Mummy) (Mama)

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 ça 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)

Dix-neuvieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

Eloise -

These letters to you all read a little more saccharine than our lives are in reality. This is mainly due to the fact that I write these letters when you are asleep and all I can remember when I look back on the last month is what an incredible, fascinating, curious, loving and clever little child you are. But certainly there are moments when we test each other. I can’t say it’s all roses. You are trying to be more and more independent, which I applaud, but sometimes your independent streaks are either ill timed, inconvenient or down right dangerous. So we disagree on many subjects throughout the day. You insist on drinking from your cup without the lid on it. Which normally I let you do (hey practice makes perfect, and I love the way you say “gentle gentle” before taking a sip) but when we’re already on outfit number 5 due to you forgetting that your cup doesn’t have a lid, I’m a little less patient. Or you insist on walking instead of riding in your pushchair - which again, I usually let you do, but when we’ve got 20 minutes to get to where we need to be and not an entire hour, I need to just strap you in and do my best to explain and then ignore your complaints. Or most of all when we are walking and you decide you are just too cool to be seen holding mummy’s hand and I have to explain for the 10th time in as many minutes that you either hold mummy’s hand or you get in the pushchair because there are cars and it’s dangerous and you are too young to realise that holding your mother’s hand is lame.

But your independence has also been a wonderful thing to witness. Brushing your teeth on your own. Attempting to carry the heavy wooden foot stool you stand on to reach the sink back to its place on the bathroom cupboard every night. Having a say in what you want to wear that day (some days you are quite picky I have to say - but I always love your final decision).





While pregnant I remember sitting in the pub (drinking apple juice and soda water - looks just like lager!) and talking with your Father and Godfather about what type of personality we hoped you’d have. I was thinking a confident and loud little girl would be great, mainly because I was an overly sensitive child and I remember how painful it could be some times and perhaps with a extroverted child some of that pain could be avoided. Your father and Godfather said they pictured you being quiet and reserved, which in the presence of strangers you very much are. It took some adjustment on my part to accept that anyone who meets you for the first time will not see the affectionate, smart, funny little toddler you are at home, but now I love that reserved quality in you. I love to watch you sit back and observe your new surroundings and then see you slowly show a bit more of your self as you start to trust the people around you. It may take you a while for you to let them into your world, but as your Grandmother said, man is it worth the wait when you do.

I count my lucky stars every single day that I am one of them.

Je t’aime

Maman




PS. These letters are getting harder and harder to post on time, thanks to you my deliciously adorable time suck.

Dix-septieme et Dix-huitieme mois avec Mademoiselle Eloise

Eloise -

Bear with me here because we got 2 months to cover and you are just shooting off in all sorts of directions of awesome wonder that I’m having a hard time keeping up. I know it’s been a few months that you’ve been walking, but my heart still sings a little ditty whenever I see you run towards me - it sings even louder when I see the back of you walking away, on to the next adventure.

Your nursery song knowledge is ever expanding. You can jump in on the E-I-E-I-O during Old Macdonald, and picked up on Frere Jacques within a week. I love when you sing to yourself, and when I can pick up a familiar tune hidden within your baby take on music, I join in. The look on your face when I start to sing with you - like yes! YOU know what I’m singing about, Mama - you get me - is priceless.

Although I’m not Mama anymore am I? I remember when pregnant, people asked me what you would call me - would it be the French Maman? - The American Mommy? I told them it would be Mama.

Little French girl playing with an onion

Universal. Warm. Big. But Mama was short lived, you have since moved on to a very English Mummy. If you told me when I was 17 and imagining what my future child would call me, Mummy would have been the last thing. But coming from you it is insanely cute. A lot of your words only your father or I can understand. Ba means Banana. Aww Doh means All Done. Jen TOE means Gentle. But Mummy. Mummy comes out clear and precise and with great conviction. And I love it.

One of my biggest concerns was how our relationship would evolve now that we’re done breastfeeding. I worried that I was loosing my magical power to soothe you and bond with you. How silly of me to worry. You quickly found other ways to get the closeness from me you need. Every night when I take you out of your bath wrapped up in your towel and place you on your changing table you immediately shrug off the towel, despite my best efforts to explain that you’ll get cold and to put the towel back on. Instead you prefer to rest your head on my chest, if there is a scarf or a necklace in your way you hurriedly move it out of the way to be sure that the side of your face is in contact with my skin and nothing else. One night I made the mistake of wearing a high neck sweater and you were very grumpy indeed. If I don’t immediately wrap my arms around your little body you will move them there for me. And we stay like that. Your warm face against my chest, my cheek resting on your damp head and my arms cradling you. You have no idea how this moment every night feeds my soul. If I could I would stay there with you till the world fell apart around us, but there are bottoms to be diapered and bedtime stories to be read.

After about 2 weeks you had stopped signing for milk during the day, but if we ever brought you into bed with us in the morning you would still turn to me asking for milk. So we stopped the family morning bed routine (much to your father’s and my chagrin as it afforded us a few more minutes sleep) for a while to help you forget. Then a few weeks ago you weren’t feeling well and kept waking up, finally by 4am we caved in and had you sleep with us. And thankfully you did not ask for milk because I was so tired I just don’t know what would have happened if you did. As you still weren’t yourself the next night, your father slept downstairs and the first time you woke up I took you into bed with me. Let me tell you Eloise, you are one cuddly sleeper. Normally I cannot stand to be touched while sleeping, I practically bite off your father’s head if so much as a knee cap grazes me and have more than once threatened to divide the bed in half with duct tape. But you give me no choice. You start off sleeping more or less on top of me, your head nestled under my neck, and through out the night we do a sleepy dance, you constantly trying to snuggle up as close as you can, like some adorable little animal searching for warmth in the night. It is not a habit I want to make, and it certainly does not make for a good night’s sleep for me, but I do wake up feeling extremely loved.

As ever you are very affectionate. Hugging your father and me whenever the mood strikes you, and lucky parents that we are the mood strikes often. Though your father is slightly miffed that he doesn’t get as many kisses as I do, perhaps you don’t like the spiky beard. You have however found a compromise. When I ask for a kiss, you give me one, when your father asks for a kiss; you push my head towards his so that I will kiss him instead. It is beyond adorable.

You are becoming quite the opinionated little madame. You’ve started choosing your own clothes. You are much more daring in your fashion choices than I am, but you have a great color palette.

You certainly have an opinion on what you eat. Some days it seems like you are running on oranges alone. While it can be frustrating when you refuse a meal I’ve made for you, you’ve developed a sophisticated palette (anchovies and capers? Guinea fowl and truffles?) and you are a very independent eater. So I try my best not to get upset when you have less of an appetite than usual and just let you get on with it. Because while one day you may choose to only eat cereal, the next day you will tuck into lentils and duck with gusto asking for seconds.

This Christmas was wonderful. Simple and cozy and full of love. Your paternal grandparents came over and spoiled you rotten - with gifts yes - but more so with their undivided attention. They spent the entire week just drinking you up and of course you adored every minute.

Thankfully you were on good form appetite wise and really seemed to enjoy the “posh” meals I made for Christmas (Guinea fowl stuffed with truffles with shallots, potatoes and green beans and for Christmas day Game pie with peas and mashed potato). My favorite moment this Christmas was on Christmas Eve. I had put the presents under the tree weeks prior but kept a close eye on you. A part from a few moments of curiosity you mainly left the gifts alone. As is our tradition, we each opened one present on Christmas Eve. You opened your gift, said Wow in your funny little E.T. voice then turned to look at the rest of the wrapped packages underneath the tree, your eyes widened to large blue saucers and we could all see the cogs in your head turning as your mouth dropped open and you finally understood what all those pretty colored boxes under the green tree were.

May there be many more penny-dropping moments of pure wonder in your life Eloise. And may I be lucky enough to bear witness.

Je t’aime

Maman

Eloise at 17 months

Eloise at 18 months