I am extraordinarily lucky to have been able to get that support and to have had both a husband with a flexible work schedule and, eventually, other childcare to give us both a break and allow me to do all the talking and acupunking and supplement-popping that needed doing.
I spent a lot of the summer bouncing from one sort of therapist to another–I think I detailed all that in my last post.
Anyway, I’m not trying to be cryptic, but I don’t want to rehash it all. That sounds dramatic, but there was a little while there when the thought going through my head was “I don’t want this life.” I felt so fucking trapped and miserable and incompetent and unprepared and everything shitty that can arise when a huge life change collides with some of your own stuff you didn’t realize you’d never dealt with, or at least didn’t think mattered. And it would have been nice of me to have done so, if only to let you know that I made it. I’ve thought of posting a great many times since my last, PPD-fueled, missive. If any of you are indeed out there reading. Sending love to you guys, and special congratulations to my bloggy and local friend, Sloper, on her pregnancy! In addition (I feel so damn lucky!), I’m super looking forward to seeing Roccie tomorrow, as we’re in her neck o’ the woods this weekend, and to our visit next weekend from Augusta and Gummy! Hugs to all and extras to those who need them. I’m gonna post this puppy, since it’s taken me a mere three months and change to get it written. School admissions in our area can be nuts.Īlrighty then. We’re hoping down the line to send her to an immersion or dual-language preschool and elementary school, but we’ll see how that goes. Our nanny, who is made of sunshine and comes from Guinea, speaks to the pumpling (and to me) exclusively in French, which is a huge help. But she does now say “ballon” for “ball,” “allô?” when she answers a toy phone (or a shoe…or a pea…), “dodo” in proximity to her crib, and “oui” with some regularity. So it goes when your maman learned the language largely from textbooks, rather than being a native speaker. And we realized that we give her a fair number of simple, kid-friendly English words to play with, while more of the French words are grown-uppy. More of the words she says to us are in English (Me: “Tu dis au revoir?”/Pumpling: “Bye!”), but she definitely understands the French. Actually, probably very well, all things considered. Operation Speak French to the Pumpling continues to go fairly well. In fact, many small pieces of scallop were dropped on the floor a couple nights ago (although several were eaten too!), but as we were clearing the table at the end of the meal, the pumpling suddenly decided she wanted to finish what was in her bowl.
#PLING LING LING FREE#
You don’t want to eat a whole meal’s worth of the scallops Daddy and I made? Well, that’s what we’re having tonight, so feel free to fill up on veggies from the accompanying salad, but these are the evening’s offerings. We know that pickiness often comes with the territory of toddlerhood, but we’re working hard on continuing to offer high-flavor, well made food, and if she rejects it at one meal, that just means she needs to try it more before she accepts it. One of our major goals, in addition to raising a happy, kind, well-adjusted child (which is, of course, a million goals rolled into a single pat little package), is for the pumpling to be willing to try and enjoy a variety of foods. As parents, we are pretty laissez-faire in some ways (oh, look, she’s eating dirt) and rather dogmatic in others (vegetables, vegetables, vegetables, and very little snacking). Speaking of mini-versions, I can’t help loving that my 9th-graders have sometimes taken to referring to the pumpling as “mini Madame.” Makes me smile. Because, seriously, folks: NAKED BABIES!!!! Am I right? Instead, I give you this, more modest, mini-version: There’s a video I so, so want to post here, except that it features the pumpling totally naked, and I just can’t put that out on the interwebs in good conscience. Girlfriend is on her feet, toddling around her world. And now here we are at 13 months! We’ve got a mover, ladies and gents. So, yes, I was all set to write the one-year-old post (and started to)…and then time passed.
And here’s an expertly Photoshopped pic of the cake pre-gobble, featuring the three nicknames we call her most often: Dumpling, Bunny, and Pumpkin.
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