Looking Back... Emma is 27 Months Old!

So, 27 months has come and gone. This is all happening wayyy too fast for my liking. And believe you me, I don't like fast.

Okey doke, where oh where to begin? Don't want to make this too long a post, cuz I know that when posts are too long, I am generally turned off and tend not to read them. Fine, I sometimes skim them.

The new thing this month is whenever Emma gets upset by something (usually when I piss her off), she'll start to whimper and say "Must go tell Blanket" or "Must tell Daddy" or "Must tell Bubbie" or "Must tell Elmo" or "Must tell just about anybody or anything that isn't you, you bitch of a mother than won't let me eat chocolate for breakfast."

And then, through her tear stained face, she'll look at me all pouty because I wouldn't let her jump on the stairs, and in the tiniest of whimpers, tells me, "You make me sad, Mommy."





But on to happier times... she LOVES singing! she LOVES dancing! In the kitchen, in her highchair, in the car, in the basement, in the bedroom, in the grocery cart... wherever, whenever. The kid has music in her bones. Clearly inherited from her Grandpa, cuz God knows it ain't from me. Too cute is that she'll hear one of her many favourite songs, close her eyes, sway her head back and forth, stretch her arms out, and turn around & around & around. Till she bumps into something. Like I said, she's got her eyes closed.

In the car, we must, MUST still listen to Brent. All Brent, all the time. And loudly. Like seriously, LOUD. Worthy of the CAPS. I go to turn it down even half a notch, and from the backseat gallery, comes a hearty "LAO-DER!"

She has also become fussy as to WHICH Brent songs we listen to. Track 2, 4, and 5 are her favourites. Track 3 is my favourite, but as she'll tell you, "I like it, too." At least she's open minded.

Should Michael cry (scream?) while we're in the car, she'll look over at him and oh-so- reassuringly, tell him, "Don't worry, Brent will make it better." Or even better, she'll say to me, "Mommy, Brent will make Michael happy." Cuz clearly... I'm can't. And usually, when Michael's in one of those moods, even Brent can't do it.



The potty. Ahhh... the potty. Nuthin' doin'. Granted, as parents we've been giving the whole thing a pretty lame ass effort. We're not asking her every 3 minutes if she has to go. We're not pushing it. Sure, we talk about it. And yes, we've got her little potty in the bathroom right next to ours. Books about using the potty piled high right next to it. As well as a few days' worth of newspapers and some decent home decorating magazines, should she be so inclined. Hell, we even let her listen to her tunes on Jeff's ipod, y'know... for the ultimate in comfort pishing. Often conversations about the potty go a little something like this:

A: Emma, are you going to use the potty today?
E: Nope.

One milestone of note... last week she did poop on it, albeit in her diapers. But still... she was seated. It was worth 5 Smarties. And so not my kid... as I put her 5 Smarties in a little baggie, I explained how if she takes her time, she could enjoy them all day long. Just have one... wait awhile... then another... and so on. What did she do? Opened the baggie and popped ALL FIVE IN AT ONCE!!! Like I said, so NOT my kid.

The new big word this month is Actually.

"Actually, my milk is in the fridge."
"Actually, I want some chocolate."

And when Auntie Lori suggested Emma go down the stairs on her bum, she was treated to this reply:
"Actually... I walk down the stairs now."

Sassy, huh?

Get a load of this exchange from a few nights ago:
A: Emma, what would you like for dinner?
E: I'm watching TV right now.

Like... OH. MY. GOD.
This kid is going to be from hell when she's 16.
I'm so screwed.



But let's jump back to cuter pastures once again...
She's nicknamed Michael "Michael-Eeee" or "Mike".
Sometimes she'll also call him "Little Buddy", "Little Guy" or "Little Fellow."

Borrowing & Sharing have become big ticket items around here lately. As have sides of the bed. In the morning, Emma always comes to hang out in our room while we're getting ready to begin the day. Usually she prefers to lie on Jeff's side of the bed. And now that "sharing" is so big, she always makes sure to ask him if she can "borrow" his side of the bed. Even if Michael is already in it.

She's really starting to understand her tenses. Where last month, she would dude something, this month she starts off dude-ing it, but often corrects it to "I did it." And she laughed-ed alot.

She prefers the eggs that have "ABC's" on them. You know... the more expensive eggs.

Out of nowhere, she's fallen into the tea-party circuit. Every night (okay, some nights), at bedtime, she'll serve Michael & I tea. Along with herself of course. And she'll ask if we like it, caution us that it may be hot, and if it is, we should blow on it to cool it down. The most courteous hostess I've ever met. Truly. Better than most of my girlfriends. (I mean, whenever she goes into the fridge to grab herself a yogurt drink, she'll always turn to ask if I'd like one too. "You want yogurt drink, Mommy?" And should you accept any of her offerings, she'll always be sure to ask, "You like yogurt drinks, Mommy?" Like I said... Courteous. Capital C.



She's become very observant. Especially in terms of our wardrobes. Go figure. Other than the dancing capabilities, she still is my kid.

Jeff came downstairs wearing a very toasty warm ski sweater, one he dug out of his chest now that it's like minus 1000 degrees here.

E: Is that a new shirt?
J: No... But I don't think you've seen it before.
E: It's beautiful.

Another biggie this month has become her love of matching. Yes, matching. Be it her socks with her sweater, my sweater with her socks, the red that is Elmo with the red on her pants, the black on my jacket with the black on my shoes... she'll all about matching. She even let me 'borrow' her purple necklace that day I was wearing a purple sweater because it matched so well. (I can only imagine how happy this is making her Grandma right now...)



The other day, Michael, Emma & I were fooling around on the kitchen floor. She decided she wanted a horsey ride, on MY back. The very back that has to cart a 19 lb sack of live potatoes around all day, every day. A sack we affectionately call Michael. My back doesn't do horsey rides.

E: You can do it!
A: No, sweetie, I really can't.
E: I KNOW you can!

27 months old. I have spawned the next Tony Robbins.

She has thousands and thousands of dollars of toys... and what is her favourite right now? A rope.