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.

And we're the three best friends...

Now that Eloise can hug and kiss back, as opposed to the first months of her life where she had to politely tolerate daily overdoses of parental love, I am amazed at how intimate the relationship between parent and child is. How affectionate and loving. A lot of times The Frenchman and I will ask for a kiss or a cuddle from Eloise, and half of the time she will very happily oblige, the other half she is far too busy discovering a congregation of dust bunnies or getting her head stuck in kitchen cupboards to bother with silly things like hugs. And then there are the few moments that Eloise will show affection unprompted, and oh goodness me! I am tearing up just thinking about it. These moments, make up for every sleepless night and every sleepless night to come. When she sits on my lap, listening to a story and in the middle turns her head and kisses my cheek, smiles, then goes back to listening to the story it takes a mountain of strength to not break into a million cherished little pieces at the blessings that kiss brings me.

We are a much more cuddly family than I expected. The Frenchman and I are not a very affectionate couple - I wouldn't say we're unaffectionate but we're certainly not the constant hand holding butt grabbing types. But Eloise certainly brings it out in us. Many a night after Eloise's bath, we go through our little ritual of putting cream on her skin and holding her close and getting her pyjamas on. And on most nights the three of us will somehow end in a three way embrace, smooshing each other close, kissing each other's cheeks, Eloise making sure Mummy and Daddy are kissing enough by pushing our heads together. And yes, some nights we even find ourselves bouncing up and down in embrace, singing that little song from The Hangover.

And we're the three best friends that anyone could ever have...

Hair Cut

We trimmed Eloise's bangs/fringe for the first time. She sat in my lap while the Frenchman snipped away. And no I didn't cry, but yes, I thought about it. She's turning into a little girl!

Here we are showing off our hair cuts. Or is that hair Cutes...? Oh YEAH!

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

Aren't you glad I shared?

Aaaaaaand we're back after a long hiatus (unplanned hiatus I should specify - turns out I can't cook Christmas dinner, entertain guests, try and keep the house from looking like a bomb site, help Eloise play with all her new presents AND blog at the same time).

So Happy Christmas, Happy New Year etcetera etcetera. I come back from this blogging pause with an announcement...we won worst parents of the week award! (oh, you were totally thinking I was going to say I'm pregnant! or The Frenchman and I are finally going to stop living in sin! well, no).

Eloise woke up this morning after sleeping through the night - a bit of a rarity in this house - at 6:45am. I let her cry a little bit and she fell back asleep for another 45 minutes (sweet!) and at 7:30 I decided she'd been stuck in her crib long enough. The sickly sweet smell of barf hit me like a wall when I opened her bedroom door. I quickly turned on the light and there she was, happily smiling at me covered in pink vomit. Stuck in her hair, dried into her blankets, smeared into her sheet. While our dinner of whole wheat spaghetti with seafood in a cream sauce was delicious last night, the sequel this morning was vile. From the state of her sick I would say she had thrown up well before we went to bed, probably while we were eating our own dinner, drinking a couple glasses of Sauvignon Blanc and commenting on how poor Eloise's cough was pretty loud as it came through the monitor we barely pay attention to these days.

This picture has nothing to do with vomit!

So let me make this clear. My daughter, the one who is a sensitive sleeper, the one who cries at night when she has a cold, when her skin is dry, when she'd rather be showing off some new motor skill she's just acquired. That daughter threw-up a pile of regurgitated crustaceans and then WENT BACK TO SLEEP FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT.

Boob be gone

So it looks like we’re winding down our breastfeeding relationship. Which is good. I think. I mean, right? This is what I want, isn’t it? She’s almost 17 months old. Old enough that I personally don’t feel comfortable feeding her in public and haven’t for around 6 months or so. Which is not say I have anything against extended breastfeeding, but I certainly have found my own comfort threshold with it. Eloise and I are starting our first step to growing apart as individuals. And while I will forever and always be Eloise’s mother - a permanent stamp on my identity, Eloise will become more and more Eloise, plain and simple (though far from plain and far from simple is she).

I can now get her to nap and sleep without nursing. A feat I have tried for near on 7 months off and on with no luck. Finally this last week, Eloise and I were ready. I had more resolve to stick it out and she no longer felt this was a battle worth fighting against so hard. So she signed for milk and I calmly gave her a beaker of cow’s milk instead. And I rocked her in my arms and she kicked and screamed and pointed at the old chair we usually nurse in, but I rocked and shushed and patted and after 10 minutes she laid her cheek against mine and started to fall asleep. And the next day it was 5 minutes of screaming. And that night. That night I held her and rocked her for maybe 30 seconds and she indicated that she wanted to be put down in her bed, so I did, and she curled into a ball, butt in the air, and I put the blanket on her, patted her back and left the room.

We are now embarking on day 5 of not nursing and there have unfortunately been many a moment at 1:12am, at 2:29am, at 4:38am that tears have sprung to my eyes while Eloise wailed and thrashed - because of teething, because of a cold, because of a tummy ache, because she likes a good challenge - and I thought I should just give in and sit in that chair and nurse her. But we both need to learn how to calm and be calmed by other means than my milk - and while cutting 2 molars without being able to nurse her through the discomfort has been a baptism of fire, we have stuck through it and she has woken every morning, happy and cheerful and slightly more independent to two very tired parents.

Will I be able to stay as strong tonight if she does the same thing? If she wakes up 4 times and takes a good HOUR to get back to sleep each time? I don’t know. I’m tired. I honestly don’t know. But I do know that Eloise and I are growing up. And I’m a little sad and a lot relieved. Because do you know what stopping to nurse means? It means that I can drink as much sparkling water as I want without it upsetting Eloise’s stomach. It means that I can wear bras that don’t pretend to hold my boobs up by flimsy Lego snaps. IT MEANS THAT I CAN DRINK DURING THE DAY AGAIN.IF I FEEL LIKE IT. IF I AM NOT NAPPING.

Christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah

Neil over at Citizen of the Month - a man who saw me start blogging during my carefree, boozy, childless life pre-Eloise - hosts a fabulous inter-faith holiday concert. This year I was sober enough to send a little clip of Eloise and me singing along with Fairytale of New York.

Lots of entertaining, heartfelt, beautiful and adorably embarrassing holiday videos can be seen. Go. Now. Fill yourself with holiday spirit and then come back and tell me how cute my kid is.

http://www.citizenofthemonth.com/2010/12/15/the-fifth-annual-blogger-christmalhijrahanukwanzaakah-online-holiday-concert/