It’s a breath of fresh air to be sifting through shells on the family room floor in January. Grandma and Grandpa brought some back from vacation, and Brianne has been documenting each shell’s possible history one by one. “This one was the home of a baby crab. And then the baby crab moved out of it and into a big-big-big shell…” On and on and on.
We’ve got clam shells and cinnamon shells and zebra shells and baby raccoon shells…oh, and giraffe shells. Of, course.
Watching her animated facial expressions as she tells each exaggerated back story is a fantastic way to kill a winter afternoon. It’s so hard for me to believe that in three short years she’s gone from fitting in the palms of our hands to creating elaborate existences for shell dwelling creatures. It’s said all the time, but it really does go by SO fast. Every time one of my friends has a new baby (which has happened a lot, lately!) I’m reminded of how excited I was to see my baby for the very first time. How immediate I fell in love with both my daughters the minute I laid eyes on them.
I suppose that’s why I feel so guilty every time I lose my patience in the realm of toddler discipline. Because each moment is so fleeting. Sometimes I would just rather let their teeth rot out of their mouths and enjoy the last bit of evening before bedtime than force the issue into the dramatic meltdown that it assuredly becomes most nights. I’m prepared to be patient for the bigger issues….but rinsing shampoo out of their hair, trimming their nails and brushing their teeth?
Focus on the teeny tiny baby cuteness. It is the same kid…right? Some days, it’s hard to fathom. Perhaps on the cusp of every “I told you so” and “Why can’t you just listen…to anyone?” I should thrust myself back to the teeny tininess. Soon enough, I’ll be telling myself to remember the shells to evade the frustration of having a teenage daughter…
Puts it in perspective, doesn’t it? There are no apparent shortcuts to toddler hygiene…but letting a lot of the other stuff go is probably healthy. Chances are, my daughter is going to continue to do more talking than listening regardless of what I do. And with an all to familiar “I’m up from naptime” tug on my arm…I sign off. Apparently, what matters more than anything right now is who I like more…Finn McMissile or Holly Shiftwell?
No regard for the fact that I’m in the middle of something here…ahhhh….focus on the teeny tiny baby cuteness.