Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Before I forget

Before I forget to tell you Holden, you were a delight today:

We went to Book Baby at the library (basically story time for the diaper crowd,) and I never want to forget how you acted. Not because it was anything over the top (amazing or the opposite), but because it was filled with simple little moments of joy that I don't ever want to take for granted.

Take, for example, this morning before we left the house. I had an Alice Cullen moment, foreseeing another power struggle about brushing your teeth. Sure, I get it that they're all going to fall out anyway; but coming from someone who had WAAAAY too many baby-teeth cavities & fillings as a youngster, you're better off just taking care of the ones you have... Besides, now is the time to form habits.

So we got you dressed (soft star shoes, a pair of khakish shorts and a light blue and white striped golf shirt that makes your eyes look like they've been photo-shopped into blueness.) Have I mentioned you are much more easily persuaded into the task (of dressing) if we do it in front of the nine foot tall mirror in our living room?

Your sun-bleached curly blond locks were like a halo around your cherubic toddler face. (I'm having you grow surfer hair for the summer.) You dressed in excitment; as if you know that shoes on means ADVENTURE!

Though yu moaned and fitted a bit about your teeth, and so I explained that I was happy and excited to go to Baby Book, but we're not going until you brush your teeth.

You countered a little bit more (this time taking said tooth brush from me and then throwing onto the floor next to the pile of Baby Einstein books you were perusing.

"Well, I'm almost ready; but wecan't go until you brush your teeth. It's going to be really sad if we don't get to go because you won't brush your teeth."

I wandered back into the hall -- gathering a few things for the diaper bag and threw on some lipstick. I opened our front door, leaving only the stormdoor to stand between you and freedom, and then made one last attempt.

You were on the floor, perfectly content... reading. (Maybe you did get some of my genes?)

"I'm ready to go," I began. "We just need to brush teeth, and then we can go."

I picked up the toothbrush from the floor (10 second rule, give or take 8 minutes) and held it towards your mouth expecting a reaction.

What I got, was certainly not what I expected.

You opened your mouth, let me brush your teeth. Said "ahhhhhhhh" a few times. I got to scrub the fronts and backs (the pediatrician says with or without toothpaste is fine at this point. As long as we're fluoride free.) I was so proud of you.

"Good choice!" I said, and the commendations would not cease. And then we were out the door.

How is it that something as small and insignificant as my child letting me brush their teeth, could feel like such an accomplishment?

(I think that's enough for today.. I'll post part two tomorrow).

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