So, Betsy is 21 months old and the closer we inch to that second birthday, the more I hear a certain word coming out of her mouth.
Mine. Mine the blanket. Mine the milk. Mine the toy that cousin Eamon wants to play with. Mine the mommy and godforbid, mine the daddy who PICKED Eamon UP when I was standing right there and he's MINE.
Charming, the MINE. For months at school (please don't remind me it's really DAYCARE) she let other children rip an interesting toy out of her hands without protest. Now she's hitting back and grabbing the thing away from her aggressor.Every now and again she even IS the aggressor. For the first time this weekend, I held MY wailing toddler as she grasped for a thing another child had first and had EVERY RIGHT to be playing with. The blankey, that's sacred. And so are two or three stuffed animals, everything else requires good manners even if it means daddy is TOUCHING ANOTHER CHILD.
And you know what? It was a beautiful thing. When you've got a preemie and she's a passive little snuggly shmoo, you start to wonder if maybe her wits got addled with all the excitement and unusual traffic involved in removing her from mom's uterus. Nevermind she's got a strong vocabulary and has used two word sentences since she was 14 months old. Everything engenders paranioa.
Mine. Boo's fine. And she's mine.
Posted by karen at June 6, 2004 09:25 PM