My thoughts are always focused inward long before they're projected outward, and it's a rare occasion when I'm told that I'm talking too much - or that I'm saying everything, as it were; but that's what Margot accused me of in the car yesterday on our drive home at the end of a long day apart; she hadn't napped all day, and I was trying every trick in the book to get her to stay awake and talk to me so that she wouldn't drift off so close to bedtime. But with all the chatting I was doing to keep her engaged, she stopped me and said, "No, mum. Stop saying everything." Well okay, then. I will. But don't think for a second that I'm not going to write about this and laugh about it with this totally incredulous look on my face.
This girl brings me so much joy. I love hanging on to all these new bubbles she's blowing out into the wind by way of new thoughts and ideas, new questions and new vocabulary. It seems like every day she's further whittling away at the shape of her own being; honing her own thoughts, forming and exploring her own ideas.
We started potty-training recently, and as such, it's been a tough, trying week. Glimmers of hope are deceivingly shrouded in eventual disappointment and all the while, expectations surely too great float around us - and the bar is unwittingly set so high - but really, it's only at such a height because her brains and her perceptions and her observations and everything about her that collides and makes her up to be exactly who she is leads me to believe that she is ready and capable in spite of being so acutely stubborn and so quintessentially two.
So we're wading through days made up entirely of accidents and days made up of no accidents whatsoever and days where Daddy gets peed on. And so it beautifully goes; these lovely spring days are spent almost exclusively outside, snacking and climbing and kicking and laughing, exploring the grass and the trees and the little lawn frogs, and any curious bugs that happen to scuttle by.