Things That Keep Me Awake At Night (Besides Wilbur's Farts)

On Friday, I sat on the toilet seat with Clara clamped firmly between my knees, struggling to coax her hair into braids. She discovered that, with her armpits hooked around my quads, she could lift her feet up and pedal the air. This meant the flaccid, relaxin hormone-devastated regions of my inner thighs had to suddenly clench to keep her from falling. There had to be a better way. I started rapid-firing questions at her (toddlers can't simultaneously make mischief and answer questions).

"Hey, what friends did you play with this week? Did you play with Miles? What about Hendrix?"

"Yes. And Daddy. And Hazel and Florida."

"You mean Flora."

"Yes, and also Florida."

"Florida is not a person. It's the place where Grammy and Popi live."

"Me and Florida color together. And we play play-doh."

"Those are things you did with Flora. Hey, did you know Flora and Hazel are sisters? What does it mean to be a sister, do you think?"

"Ummmmm....same mommy, two different mans."



Now, where did she get that? Was it just the random firing of toddler neurons? With a baby on the way, Simon and I have been trying to help her understand the abstract concept of family, but, "two different mans"? It could be she knows some blended families, or half-siblings, in daycare. Or maybe they taught a lesson about different kinds of families in daycare?

"Is there something I should know?" Simon asked with me mock suspicion.

Clara's statement does show a measure of progress with respect to the concept of sibling-hood. Over the months, her understanding has evolved from complete ignorance and/or denial (blank stares), to anthropomorphism ("There's a baby kitty in your tummy, Mommy") to the anger stage of grief: "I don't want a baby brudder!!"

Marriage is another area where Clara's understanding of family seems to be evolving.

On Saturday, as I was making breakfast, I heard a sound behind me. I turned and there was Simon, draped from head to toe in the big golden, velour blanket we keep on our bed. It completely swathed his head, and his be-spectacled face stared out at me regretfully. Behind him came Clara, tiny and impertinent in Dora the Explorer jammies, employing the swagger she uses when she's being ridiculously bossy.

"Daddy is getting married," she told me matter-of-factly.

"Who is he marrying?" I asked.

"Ummmmmm....me!"

Simon went on to tell me that it had all begun when Clara wrapped herself in the blanket upstairs, and said she was going to get married to Daddy.

"You can't marry me, because I'm your daddy," said Simon.

"Um, I will marry Mommy!" she replied.

"You can't marry Mommy because she's your mommy. If you decide to get married someday, it's best to marry someone not in your family. That's how marriage works," Simon explained.

Where did Clara learn the concept of marriage? Was it from watching Shrek? I suppose marriage has been in the news a lot lately, and the adults around her have been talking a lot about it. Or maybe she picked up the concept because the kids at daycare pretend to get married during playtime or something? I remember doing that with my older sister growing up (she always made me be the groom. During summertime, when we harvested corn from the garden, I scotch-taped corn silk to my chin to make it look like a beard).



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Lately, when I think about having another baby in the house, I hear the bells of doom. Not because of the sleep deprivation or copious quantities of poop I will be dealing with every day, but because my first "baby," my toddler, is pretty certain that I belong to her alone.

Tonight at dinner, while I was attempting to exchange some remarks with Simon, Clara said, "No, Mommy! No talking."

"But I want to talk," I replied. "I'm talking with Daddy right now."

"No! No talking. Only listening to Clara."

"Okay, so I'll listen. Okay, I'm listening. Aren't you going to tell me a story or something?"

"No. Mommy tells me a story."

So I told her a story about a mommy bunny that has TWO babies, one older baby girl bunny (like Clara), and a newborn baby brother bunny (like the one currently in my stomach). The story was all about how the older baby girl helps the mommy bunny with the baby brother, and together they take him to the doctor and the park and love him and everybody is all one big happy family.

During my telling, she watched me suspiciously. Who was this baby bunny boy-child? And he was going to the same doctor as her and looking at the same fish in the fish tank in the doctor's waiting room? And he would even get a sticker after, too?! Unbelievable. Usurper.

Psychologists talk about individuation, where kids slowly form a separate identity from their parents. When I think about that word, I picture cheerleaders singing "IN-DI-VI-DU-ATE, C'mon!!" to the tune of "CE-LE-BRATE GOOD TIMES, C'mon!!" Cheerleaders, because individuation seems like kind of a hard thing to do. Maybe that's why it takes eighteen years or so.

Wait, am I the one who's supposed to help Clara individuate? The same way I'm responsible for teaching her about not picking her nose and being kind to people and saying "please" and "thank-you"? Am I remiss in my individuation teaching and now she's way behind and that's why she's so attached to me??

Or is she attached because she's two-and-a-quarter? And what's wrong with being attached? I love her.

These are the things that keep me awake at night. At the end of the day, I suppose all I can do is my best.