Thursday, March 15, 2012
Letter to Lucia: 29 Months
Dear Little One,
Well! So close to two and a half, you are. And you have become just unbelievably funny and cute. It’s a rare day that you don’t make me laugh out loud. The things you say, your facial expressions, the funny things you notice and do—it’s all just fun and great to witness. Our days are often long, especially on the (now-rare) days when you’re in a surly mood, but each one really is unforgettable.
I always expected you to be talkative, and you are. You pick up new expressions all the time, and are becoming very skilled at expressing your thoughts and feelings. On Tuesday, we were invited to a friend’s house for playgroup, but you’re getting over some sniffles and had a pretty tiring weekend; when I suggested we go, you gave me a serious look and said, “I just want to stay home. I want to stay right here.” So we did.
Lately, when I ask what you’re doing or if you want to do something other than what you’re engaged in, you say casually, “I’m just playing with sticks, Mama.” or “I’m just reading.”
You’re fascinated by the idea that you were once little like Greta. “When I was little, I chewed on that,” you’ll say. Yesterday, as we set out for a walk to the playground with Greta in the stroller, you said, “When I was little, I sat in the stroller.” And you often remind Greta that she can do things “when she gets bigger.” “She’s too little,” you’ll say after pretend-offering her a goldfish cracker. “When she gets bigger she have goldfish.”
You love your music class. You’ve always loved it, but you’re at an age now where you are really engaging with it, taking home things we do there and doing them on your own. “Like music class,” you say often, when you’re drumming on something or singing bits of songs. You look forward to class, and often ask to go on other days of the week. When we set out on class day, you announce repeatedly, “I going to music class!” Yesterday I asked if you were ready to sing and dance. “Yeah!” you said. “And play instruments!”
You are happy and joyful. And you have no idea, of course, of how cramped we are, how starved for space, how lacking we are for the freedom of grass and backyards and wide-open sidewalks. For you, this is home; you don’t know that home is a choice, that things could be—and will be—so different. There are days when I feel almost crazy with impatience to just get out of the city and start that wide-open life. Your daddy and I want to move, house-people that we are, but truly we’re moving for you and your sister. You’ll probably curse us when you’re teenagers and are trying to sneak out of the boring suburbs and into the city, but so be it. (Oh, and about your future attempts to sneak into Manhattan when you’re sixteen: I WILL know. And even if I decide to let you have your little adventure, guess what: See that woman in sunglasses, lurking across the street? Yep, that’s Mama, following close by.)
Seeing an ant outside is a big deal for you, little city girl. Yesterday as we walked home from the playground, you spotted a lone ant by a stoop, and you bent down to watch it, fascinated. You said hello to it, asked it what it was doing. When I asked if there were more ants, you said, "I don't see more ants. I only see one." You also love running after the pigeons at the playground, and you squeal in delight when you see a sparrow. Oh, for a backyard...
Favorite things: play food, play kitchen, play pots and pans, Play-Doh (making pancakes and tiny balls), Piggy, your doll, sunglasses, collecting sticks/stones/seeds, the arm slide at the playground, swinging, singing songs by yourself, giving Greta things to hold and chew on
Favorite books: Olivia Goes to Venice, Duck and Goose Find a Pumpkin, Imogene’s Antlers, Elmo’s Big Book of Firsts, Not Now Not Now (from India), Pals