Dreams and Poop - not Dreams of Poop

 Raising a little one is honestly the absolute pinnacle of a meaningful and fulfilling life-long job. I guess the reality is that the Y won't be "a little one" forever. Okay, if I'm going to be really honest (eeks!) the Y won't be "a little one" for much longer. Her second birthday is around the corner (less than a month away), and my husband and I often spend evenings looking back at the Y's photos from her birth. No matter how many times we look at the photos, we are thoroughly amazed at how much she's grown - physically and cognitively. She's her own person, with her own ideas and agenda. Yes, she's not even two, and she has her own agenda. She knows what she wants to get done and how to get it done. Aaah, the wonders of the growing and developing brain. Her growth is amazing, and we feel blessed to witness and be a part of it.

This morning, when the Y called out from her crib, "See mama!" that was Papa's cue to snatch her up from the crib. When he walked into the room, the Y did her usual happy dance around her crib. Marching around the perimeter of her crib mattress while her neenee cloth (sleeping cloth) rested on her shoulder, trailing behind her like a flag. (The reason I know this is because the Y has a video monitor in her room). En route from the Y's bedroom to our bedroom, I heard a lot of chattering between the Y and her Papa. (There's no video monitor in the hallway, so I had no idea what was being discussed. All I knew is that they were engrossed in a full on conversation.) Upon entering the room, after the Y bounced over to me for a hug and cuddle, her Papa let me know what they discussed. When he picked her up from the crib, as the traveled down the hallway, she said, "I want to see Mama in the kitchen. She's making mamosas." When my husband asked why she thought mama would be in the kitchen so early in the morning, the Y responded, "In my dream. Mama making mamosas downstairs." My husband responded, "You mean she's making samosas in the kitchen?" "Yes Papa. Making mamosas." So thus the little Y revealed her first dream. Dreams. I didn't even know that she knew what a dream was - I mean it's a relatively abstract concept. Yet she used the term "dream" in a very appropriate context. As my husband says, "I can see the wheels in her head turning." Thank God for the wheels turning...

From the cognitive, to the physical. When I say physical, I mean physiological. I'm talking about poop. Since the Y was about 15 months old, she started telling us when she was peeing and pooping. "I do poperly (properly) poo poo." So her pediatrician, Dr. Hall (who she calls Dr. Hallway), suggested that we start putting her on the toilet before her nightly bath. Like clockwork, before each bath, the Y does pee pee on her Elmo toilet (her toilet seat has Elmo, Dorthy, Ernie, Rubber Ducky, Cookie Monster, and cookies - which is sort of gross. Cookies on a toilet seat. Yuck.). This evening when she was seated on her toilet seat, I heard a few farts escape and echo in the toilet bowl. I asked her if she had to poo, and she said, "Mama it's just gas. Just gas." After chatting for a bit, I inquired about her status, and she didn't reply. Instead the Y had a look of intense concentration on her face, and before any more words could be exchanged, it happened. "Plop. Plot. Plop." Three plops in a row. With a huge smile across my face, it was like the Y could read my mind. She said, "I did a good job. I did it Mama!" She was so proud of her accomplishment, and I was in awe. No, she's not potty trained (not even close), but she did her first poop in the toilet. Three little turds. What a huge accomplishment for the little Y. I gave her a huge hug while she sat on the toiled, and showered her with words of encouragement. Before I could get even more carried away, the Y pointed to the toilet paper and stated, "That. Mama use that to clean me!"

The Y. What else can I say about our little Y? We love her more than words can ever describe. We love you Y. Always know and remember that. Always.