Isobel the Bard

 

Isobel’s developing a penchant for story telling. She uses basic, two to four word sentences to get her point across, but it’s startling to see that she not only has a pretty good memory, but enjoys recounting her experiences. Like the time she left the half-eaten banana peel on the window sill, and it became covered in ants. Out of the blue she’ll tell you EW EW GROSS BANANA YUCKY. She also has reminded us (repeatedly) about how she accidentally hit the forward button on her  motorized toy truck, and how it bumped her foot (TRUCK! FOOT! OUCH! FOOT OWIE!).

She’s learned to chant for things she wants, but really, this isn’t surprising at all: Anthony and I have modeled this behavior for her dozens of times. Accidentally. We never expected her to repeat it back. Ever since she knew Jake gave us cookies, it was not uncommon to hear her chant COO-KIES! COO-KIES! when she wanted them. Which was only about five times a day, or whenever she saw us opening a cupboard.

She’s becoming too smart for her own good, too. I tried sneaking bites of dark chocolate while I was folding laundry the other night (thanks, Stef!) but she caught me. PLEEEEEEEEEEASE! she asked, making her baby sign for “more, please.” No, I replied. Chocolate is yucky. It is ew. She responded by shouting EW EW YUCKY GROSS YUCKY! She even stuck her tongue out and made barfing noises. I was silently congratulating myself when she turned to me and said PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?

And sometimes my frustration gives way to hilarity. Like the time I thought I had finally, finally gotten her down for the night, two hours past her bedtime. The dark room had gone quiet; her flailing limbs ceased their movement. It was still, and nearly eleven o’clock. Then, as if the silence was merely her gathering steam, she busted out singing LA CUCARACHAAAAA! LA CUCARACHAAAAAA! at top volume.

When I’m home with Isobel during the day, I usually lay down with her a bit to get her to take her nap. Who are we kidding, though? Mama needs a rest as much as baby—or more so. There’s nothing I love more than curling up against my sweet baby and closing my eyes. Isobel softly pats my cheek with a touch so tender and light I sometimes think I imagine it. Right when I think I finally have her drifting off to sleep she’ll whisper to me, “Mama. Wake up.”