The Bambina is almost two years old, which completely baffles me every time I think about it. How can the wee tiny baby who slept (and actually fit completely) on my lap on the 21-hour trip home from China now be this walking, talking full-on dynamo of a human person who is two years old?! It's unbelievable, and yet the least unique thing in the entire history of parenting: baby becomes toddler becomes child becomes adolescent becomes adult. Textbook growth pattern. But somehow when it is YOUR kid doing the growing you think it's the most amazing thing in the entire universe.
She is a tremendously verbal little girl who speaks with that wide-eyed certainty that only children can and which forces you to look stern while telling yourself not to laugh. To wit,
She was acting up a bit and I said to her, "Does Bambina want to go to her room?" She answered, "Yeah!" I apparently have not made her bedroom into the Punishing Dungeon of Darkness I had hoped for...
When she was hungry she did the sign language move for "eat" while saying, "Eat! Eat!" I asked her, "What do you want to eat then?" Her answer: "Out!" while pointing to the door. I guess the choice between a bowl of spaghettios at home and three entrees and a side from Sizzlin Express is a simple one for a toddler...
When she was told that she had to finish her dinner before she could go out to play in her sandbox she took each little piece of pizza off her plate in a gesture of sharing them with me. Once they were all in my hands and I was about to give her props for good sharing, she proudly lifted her now-empty plate and cheered, "Done!" as she high-tailed it to the door.
Finally, and in my most favorite development yet, Bambina has finally achieved peace with the notion that when I go to work I always come home. As a way to help lessen the separation anxiety we taught her that "Mommy goes to work. Boo!" but "Mommy always comes home. Yay!" She used to say "boo" and "yay" individually, but just this week I walked downstairs in my suit (which, in a scathing indictment of me and my obvious daily lack of couture, she knows means I'm leaving the house) to hear her little voice yell out in full frat-boy/US Marine cadence: "BOOYA!!"
Good times, good times. Made only more special by her little friend down the street who loves to share his sandbox with her while his mom and I chat. He's a sweet kid and I've heard him say it a hundred times, but I still have to contort myself to not laugh when he has his x-wing fighters and Obi Wan character dolls in the sandbox as he says very earnestly and excitedly, "Bambina! Let's play Star Whores!"
Like I said, good times. Good times.