Threenager

Happy Birthday A! We have successfully run the toddler gauntlet, from ages 12 to 36 months, where I had no idea what I was doing! Congratulations to us!

A and I have been back together for a few months now – time I wouldn’t have had but for Covid-19. I’m surprised at how much she has grown since last summer and how much learning slipped by without my noticing despite evenings and weekends together.

What kind of things? She has the sweetest new spray of freckles across her nose. Christopher Robin is her hero. She knows all the words to Old MacDonald and sings it while riding on the tractor. She loves to play baby animals; which translates into games of fetch in the back yard and her saying, “I love you, mama salmon,” whenever she’s in the kiddie pool. She invites us parents on trips “up north to see the polar bears” and made me a paper pilot’s license so I could fly us there.

Her language skills have blown up since March; though correct use of pronouns still eludes her. New vocabulary includes “moss”, “twig”, “chic-a-dee-dee-dee”, DVD-dee-dee”, “cool”, and “butt-crack.” I claim full responsibility for all of it. You win some; you lose some.

This little girl’s spatial-mechanical awareness puts me to shame. She knows where we are when we drive around the city as well as I do (Going to the airport, mama? To the library? The doctor?) She may already know how traffic patterns flow at intersections and how to differentiate right from left.

She has taken to calling me by my first name. “Heidi?” she asked on a recent romp around the yard. “How does water get into our house?” I take her over to the cistern and she begs me to check the level. When I tell her dad usually does that job she retrieves the dip stick from wherever it’s kept and shows me how. Then she moves on to questions about electricity and plumbing (“Where does my poop go?”). Finally, she asks me to explain the internet. Mama doesn’t know, child.

A is an excellent adventurer. There are no rules in our family about getting wet or muddy; only that your being cold cannot ruin the fun or cause us to turn around early (at least not very often).

I will forever remember this summer as the one where A wore a bike helmet and little else. Three weeks ago she tried a balance bike and declared it defective. “No pedals on this thing?” she asked. “Just use your feet?” Now she’s glued to it; seeking ramps and making hairpin turns. She drags it, barefoot, into the backyard where she can try downhills.

She is my treasure, and I tell her so on a daily basis. On a recent foray we wander down a “short” path I have not been on for quite some time. I brought no phone (no reception), water, or provisions save for a granola bar and a fruit leather tucked inside of my bra strap (reason #286 why stretchy pants need pockets!)

Low-slung alders criss-cross the path; bent by last winter’s heavy snowfall from left to right across the lines of straighter, darker trees. We duck under, climb over, and go around singing, “going on a bear hunt” all the while. A swings from their branches and rides them like horses; a satisfying reminder of my childhood.

At the end of the trail a kingfisher calls Kick-kick-a-kee! and dives into the river. We sit on a bench and eat our snack. My daughter discovers, and falls in love with, her first tire swing (Higher higher!). Finally, we turn and head for home.

Hours have passed. By time the truck comes into view, my child is buck naked, dehydrated, hungry, scratched and mosquito-bitten. She still doesn’t want to leave. “Thanks for the great adventure, A,” I say. “I had fun with you today.”

“Thanks, Heidi,” she says. “You’re my treasure too.”

*