Just call me Julie Andrews.

When Elle was wee little, I used to hum and sing to her as I tried to put her to sleep after feedings or for naps. I didn't know many nursery rhyme-type songs at the time, so I sang what I kinda/sorta knew: Musicals.

The most common one was "The Sound of Music." When I thought Elle was tiring of that, I went with a little bit of "West Side Story" and "Porgy and Bess," but it was almost always "The Sound of Music." I felt like a dunce when I mixed up verses or sang the chorus of certain songs over and over, but Elle had no idea I was hacking the works of Rodgers and Hammerstein to horrific bits and pieces. I downloaded songs from "The Sound of Music" to my iPod for a refresher and listened to them at work, which did little to help me with my lyric retention problem.

When Elle was about a month old, Tim's mom and nephew came to meet Elle and visit us. Elle was going through some sort of crazy growth spurt, and I remember nursing her and getting a little bit too excited to find that there was a "Sound of Music" marathon on TV. We watched every time she nursed that day. I delighted in those nursing sessions and also considered them additional lyric refresher courses, but after that, I don't remember singing many of the songs to Elle. I think it was just a few weeks after that she started to sleep through the night and there weren't multiple opportunities to put her back to bed at night.

Fast forward almost two years, and I'm having flashbacks to those first few months of Elle's life.

I put Elle to bed almost every night, but on the nights that Tim is home (and the Reds aren't playing), he'll sometimes take bedtime duty. I'll hear him reading her story after story, and then he promises her a few songs. They usually sing "Twinkle Twinkle" or "Baa Baa Black Sheep." Sometimes Tim gives her some REO Speedwagon. But the singing at bedtime has always been their thing.

Until this week. Elle and I did our usual bedtime routine of stories and rocking, and then she said "Songs?" I asked her what she wanted me to sing, going through some of our toddler song regulars as options for my performance. She said no to all of them, so I took matters in to my own hands and started in with "The Sound of Music."

I've added a few songs to my rotation over the last few nights. I lead with "Do-Re-Mi" and throw in "Maria" or "My Favorite Things." (There's a girl at church that Elle loves named Maria, though, so I don't want her to start calling church Maria a flibbertijibbet or tell her she's a riddle, you know?) Sometimes if we're doing a full performance I'll sing "Sixteen Going On Seventeen" or yodel like a lonely goat.

But every night, she requests "Songs?" and I ask "What song do you want to hear?" Then she acts all coy and says "Ummm ... raindrops?" This never fails to make me smile, because out of all the words and songs I sing, she remembers "Raindrops on roses."

I'll be brushing up on my lyrics again, because Elle is sharp and will soon start correcting me or notice when I mumble over words. Until then, I've also been teaching her some contemporary tunes - she now asks for "Mommy's songs" in the car and will sing along to the "Ooh baby baby" part of Usher's "Scream." Cute? Incredibly. At dinner tonight, she kept saying "Don Dokken?" much to Tim's delight. (If you don't know who Don Dokken is, I don't blame you - if I hadn't met Tim I'm pretty sure I'd still be in the dark, too.) One thing is for sure - Elle will be nothing if not musically diverse.

The time I had almost six days to myself.

Two weeks ago, Tim was on vacation. He's been at his job for six years, I've been at mine for less than one, so we don't exactly have equal vacation time. I'd taken some unpaid time off in May, so I wasn't able to take more time off, and on that Thursday, we got up super early, drove to the airport and Tim and Elle flew to Ohio. They were gone until Tuesday, when I left work early to pick them up at the airport (and of course their flight was delayed and I encountered torrential rain on the way there and we hit rush hour traffic on the way back).

But that's six days - three times the longest amount of time I have been away from Elle since she was born almost two years ago. Tim and I are used to traveling separately and being away from each other - although not preferable, we're able to return to our long-distance relationship roots and manage short-term separations with relative ease. And he and Elle have plenty of one-on-one experience (for those not familiar with our situation, he works nights and I work days, so he takes care of Elle every morning), so I wasn't worried about her missing me terribly.

I was simultaneously excited and depressed about their trip to see our families. I knew I'd miss them, but I also knew I'd enjoy having some "me" time and the opportunity to get some stuff done around the condo.

Tim put almost 1,200 miles on the rental car and spanned the state, hitting every region except the southeast corner of Ohio (we've never had much use for the southeastern part of the state - sorry, southeastern Ohioans!). Elle was along for about half of those miles.

Elle was a trouper and traveled super well (especially considering she had to spend so much time in the car/plane and slept in unfamiliar places with people she doesn't see on a regular basis), and Tim got to see his beloved Reds and lots of his family, but we're hoping there aren't many more vacations like this, where we're separated and/or rushed and/or exhausted. 

While they were gone, I went to Spin class (twice! and to the gym without having to rush home!). I made a huge mess of the condo (and then spent time cleaning it all up). I planned a night out with friends. I ate what I wanted when I wanted and watched crap TV. I also missed Tim and Elle terribly, and while I was glad they were with family, I was jealous that I wasn't with them. It was hard to walk past Elle's door every night - open - and know that the quiet in the condo wasn't because she was peacefully sleeping in her crib.

To illustrate how a situation like this presents many conflicting emotions, I made a list of some of the things I noticed about my time by myself. Here are some things I could do that I normally cannot:

- Leave scissors out.

- Leave markers out.

- Not have to wash dishes every day or run the dishwasher more than once.

- Decide to go to the beach and just grab a towel and go - not debate the timing of the trip, if the time getting ready is worth the effort, worry about the sand that will get in all of the crevices of the baby and car, bags needed for the trip, etc.

- Spend an hour debating between two different pairs of shoes and then decide not to get either one.

- Visit 5 different (shoe) stores in about 40 minutes because I didn't have to mess with a car seat, stroller, etc. (I was having a shoe crisis, and unlike many women my age, I detest shoe shopping. Detest is actually a nice way of putting it. At one point I called my mother and expressed my anger at the genes that gave me huge, wide feet. But I digress.)

-  Go to Target even though it was monsooning out - I needed to buy stuff, darn it.

-  Eat lunch at 2:30 instead of noon because no one (other than me) was crying and whining because they were hungry and it was nap time.

- Watch TV before bedtime (like Lifetime movies and other fun stuff) instead of reading Tumford the Terrible for the tenth time that week before bedtime.

- Go to Spin class without worrying about who was going to watch my kid and "Ohmygosh I have to get home" because Tim/the sitter needs to do this and that and I need to take care of Elle.

- Sleep in until a ridiculous hour after a night out with friends. (I would probably still be sleeping except one of the cats jumped up on my dresser.)

- Have a night out with friends without paying for a sitter or worry about how early I was going to have to get up the next day.

- Leave my coffee cup on the floor while I leisurely read the newspaper.

- Change diapers.

- Leave the house whenever I wanted.

Conversely, I could not:

- Get hugs when I got home from work.

- Rock my baby before bedtime.

- Read Tumford the Terrible for the tenth time that week.

- Have a regular eating schedule.

- Spend the entire time at home because it got lonely.

- Make a freaking decision and buy the shoes already instead of wasting a ton of time deciding.

- Hear the sounds of giggles and toddler-speak that normally fill my home.

- See my family.

- See my husband's family.

Princess Elle Belle at her birthday party.

 - Attend the birthday party my husband's side of the family hosted for my almost-two-year-old daughter.

- Spend time with Tim.

- Enjoy a baseball game with my husband and his cousins.

- Make up for the fact that Tim took about seven photos on the trip (I would have been pushing 300).

I was extremely glad when they got home, despite the fact that the condo had been pristine that morning and looked like a tornado had hit within 3.4 seconds of their arrival. There was laundry to do, routines to get back in to and hugs to catch up on. It was fantastic to have a few days to myself, but I'm glad to be sharing them again :)

Spring training 2012

Taking it all in.

 We went to our first spring training game of the year a few weeks ago. When we went to games last year, Elle was young and immobile, so the biggest challenge of the outing had been getting her to nap in a busy, unfamiliar place and finding a quiet, cool place to nurse her. This year, Baby Girl was all about eating a hot dog, walking around, checking out all of the people, sights and sounds. There would be no napping, and we knew that, but luckily we timed things right so that she slept on the way and the way back.

We drove down to Port Charlotte, home of the Tampa Bay Rays and about an hour south of us. The Pirates spring train in our city, but we both had the day off, the schedules were favorable and we hadn't been to Port Charlotte in two years. The Rays were playing my beloved Pittsburgh Pirates, and a friend of mine from my previous job was covering the game, so it was good to see my team and my former coworker.

Stuffing her face, pre-game.

Elle was a trooper, sitting through 3.5 innings with little fuss. She was content to eat and play on our laps, and it didn't hurt that the game was going quickly. The weather was nice, but hot, hot, hot. The sun beat down, so even though there wasn't much humidity, it was still quite toasty.

Early on ...

She and I walked around for a few innings, enjoying a lovely patch of overcastness and a slight breeze. After a brief return to our seats, we met up with my friend, and then Tim took Elle for an inning before the game was over, ending in exciting fashion (and an unfortunate loss for the Pirates).

Officially over the game.

The whole time we were there, it continued to strike me how different things, like spring training, are now that we have Elle. We obviously couldn't focus on the game as much as we used to or enjoy our hot dogs and peanuts slowly like we might have long ago. We used to go to several games and will probably only go to two or three this year. But we wouldn't trade it for the the world. We had the opportunity to watch our daughter delight in the music and cheers coming over the public address system. We watched her clap in response to the claps of other baseball fans. We saw her people watch and ham it up for people who didn't care that she had a tendency to walk directly in their path without a second thought.

After a long day at the ballpark ...

And I kept remembering the last time we were at that park for a spring training game - me feeling huge at 22 weeks pregnant and watching baseball after a particularly disheartening OB appointment.

Saturday morning

A glimpse at the beginning of my Saturday morning:

Wake up to sounds of cat puking. Ignore it, go back to sleep and hope that it will magically disappear.

Wake up again to sounds of happy, babbling toddler. Listen to early morning rendition of "ABCs."

Hear more cat puke. Get out of bed.

Clean mounds of cat puke, then retrieve now unhappy toddler (she heard someone cleaning cat puke and not coming immediately to get her) and place her on the potty.

Play peek-a-boo (or "peek-a-who," according to Elle) with toddler's blankie. Discuss the fact that Mommy has two "yips" (lips) on her "mouf" (mouth). Exit the bathroom for a diaper change.

Deny request of beans for breakfast. Serve "blackaberries" instead. Am informed they are made of chocolate.

Chocolate blackaberries.

Smile when toddler echoes mocking of her "blackaberries" pronunciation and repeats "Ella Bella" - what I've decided is her new, Italian and French nickname. 

Second toddler's cheers when coffee starts brewing.

Shake head when toddler randomly starts saying, quite emphatically, "kitty poop!" from the high chair. (Make mental note to not thank Tim for explaining what the litter box is for to a curious Elle.)

Beam with pride and joy when she says - unprompted this time - "'cue me" (excuse me) after farting, and later burping.

Nod in agreement that Daddy *is* in the dark, as Daddy is still sleeping (and snoring, for the record).

Go back and forth with "nope" and "yup" as an argument commences over whether Mommy's shoes are too big for Elle. (I'm the "yup" side.)

Listen to "Oh my darlings" sung by toddler who is obsessed with the Sing-A-Ma-Jig that sings "My Darling Clementine."

Say "Oh man" when toddler drops a book and laugh when she keeps repeating "Ohhh me! Ohhh me!"

Toddler collapses suddenly to find "dis boo boo" on her knee - a scratch from earlier this week that she apparently forgot about until this second.

Give toddler raspberries on her belly, delight in her giggles, then ask for and receive a "kiss on da yips."

Write blog post to remember all of the funny moments of the last hour, then prepare for day of errands, time with friends, baking and more memories - a day that will leave me (more) exhausted, happy, accomplished and most of all, thankful.

Loaded question

My boss at my old job used to ask on an almost daily basis: "How is *insert cutesie name for Elle here*?" Often, he'd ask the more specific follow up of "Beansprout doing anything new?"

It's a pretty common question - when people know that you have a kid, it's an instant conversation-starter. Or a new spin on the "how are you?" of pre-baby life, because really, my life does tend to revolve around my munchkin and everything is affected by her and/or her mood.

So I should have been (and should be) prepared for these kinds of questions, but holy geez, how long do you have? Do you want to know about the things I blog about, trying to remember to write them down as they happen lest I forget one cute or quirky thing she did? Or what foods she is or isn't eaten on any given day? Would you like to know how many times she pooped yesterday (4), or how many days it had been before that since she had pooped (1.5)?

I never realized how hard of a question it was to answer, though, until a former coworker of mine wrote a blog post on the subject that had me shaking my head and mumbling, "Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!"

Because if I told the people who ask - politely, expecting a conversational and brief "She's crawling!" or "She's teething, whoa" type response - the truth, we'd be there for hours and their eyes would be darting frantically around the room, looking for an out, a way to escape the mommy conversation. I could go on for hours about the stuff Elle is doing, the stuff she says, the things Tim and I talk about regarding Elle and parenting and the future. I could converse endlessly about things that are in our rearview mirror, like breastfeeding and baby led weaning and sleep training. I could chat about cloth diapering and potty training theories for days (but really wouldn't want to - days of poop talk? C'mon).

If you really want to know how Elle is doing, I could push past the timely nugget of info I try to keep stored in a spare crevice of my mommy brain for this very question, and I would tell you how smart she is (tonight I found out she knows her colors! including "pick" for pink). I would tell you how sweet she is, kissing her bath toys every night as she lines them up on the rim of the tub. I would tell you how how passionate she is, whether it be about food or her blankie or going for walks. I would tell you how she is insanely funny. I would tell you about how adorable she can be, and how she waits until the lights are off in the nursery at bedtime and then puts her face super close to mine and laughs. I would tell you about how maddening she can be, how we have a relationship that Tim describes about as exactly as I can imagine, with extremes of high and low - we're either having the time of our lives or our stubborn streaks are both on full blast. I would tell you how sometimes when I'm rocking her at bedtime, I think of how it feels like just yesterday that she would sit quietly and contently on her activity mat, and now she's so full of movement and energy that I'm constantly wondering how to keep up with her. I would tell you how sometimes it takes my breath away that we're so lucky and blessed, and even on the most challenging days I can't imagine life any other way.

I try to keep one big highlight or conversational piece tucked away in my mommy brain for when this question is asked, because I honestly don't think anyone wants the real answer when they ask how Elle is doing. But when I think of how much she has changed, how much our lives have changed because of her, and how full my heart is, it seems kind of trivial to say "She got yogurt all over herself last night" or "She decided she didn't want to nap today."

Monkey see, monkey ... oh, crap

Over the last few months, it has become rather obvious that Elle (like most kids her age) is quite impressionable. We've been mindful of our language around her, and I've been conscious of trying to keep things positive around her - instead of lots of "nos" we try to reserve the word for only serious things, and we try to redirect her whenever possible.

I've tried to watch my language and behavior around her, knowing that if she's picking up words from us at the speed of light she's also probably picking up on the way we act. (I just read this blog post, too, which makes me a) laugh and b) really think about what I'm saying, haha.) She mimics cleaning, calling herself "helper" and walking around with a little brush and dust pan. Unfortunately, she also has started putting things in the trash can - things that don't necessarily belong in the trash can.

A few recent incidents have jumped out at me as signs that we've got to try harder to be "good" around the little one.

Tim told me that Elle said "Kitty, no" to one of the cats when he was clawing at the armchair. I thought it was cute ... but realized that she had picked that up from me.

Tim and I call each other "Hon" a lot. One night around Thanksgiving, Elle was sitting in the kitchen trying to get Tim's attention, and we realized what she was repeatedly saying: "Hon. Hon. Hon. Hon." (Sometimes he seriously doesn't listen! I can't take all the blame for her picking that one up from me.)

Then she started throwing her sippy cup off her high chair with an "Oh no. Dop it." Within the day, "Dop it" became a clear "Stop it." Like when I was clipping her nails, and Elle told me "Stop it. Stop it." Or when she tossed each crayon she was using off her high chair tray with a "Stop it."

There is also the fact that she will prance around and say "Sit down. Good girl." She'll plop on her butt, then repeat the whole thing. It's pretty funny, but ... in the bathtub, she likes to stand when I wash her hair - I tell her to sit down, then tell her she's a good girl. Got it. My 16-month-old is mocking me.

She is such a little sponge.

Some of it is cute and harmless, like when she says "oh man" any time her block towers crumble (usually because she's knocked them down). Or when she says "Buh bye, see you" to anyone and everyone she meets.

But there are other times when I wonder how she perceives us, and our interaction with her, evidenced by the fact that she said "Up" to me this weekend, I said, "Why, Elle? There's nothing up here." And now she constantly says "Up - why? Up - why?" as well as sometimes just "Why?" as an auto-response when we're exasperated. 

I watch her and other kids at church and other places interact and try to see what adult behavior is reflected in the little ones. What part of their play is directed by us, influenced by us? I find myself picking up cues from some of my mommy "role models" and learning how to diffuse some situations, handle others. But not everything they do works for me. I'm my own type of parent. And my kid is different from their kid(s). The situations are hardly ever identical.

As Elle has gotten older, even in the last few months, I've been especially aware of how she picks up on the way I act, the words I say. But apparently some habits have been learned, and I'm sure they won't be the last. I'm not perfect, but holy crap - there's no clearer mirror to my own behavior than a 32" tall toddler.

Parenthoodlyness

Before Elle was born, I would go to the post office, grocery store, doctor, etc. without much conversation with strangers. When you have a baby, though, EVERYONE wants to talk to you. Actually, even if you're just sticking-out-to-here with baby belly, EVERYONE wants to talk to you.

When you're pregnant, everyone gives you advice. The focus is on you - make sure you rest, make sure you enjoy every minute, make sure you do/don't get an epidural, you look great, you look like you're about to pop, you're going to love being a parent, you're never going to sleep again.

Out-Of-Utero-Baby rocking
a decidedly pink outfit.

When you're toting around Out-Of-Utero-Baby, though, the attention is allllll on the baby. And understandably so. "Oh, the baby is soooo cute!" "She looks like a good baby." "Does she sleep well?" "She has such pretty eyes." At this point, the parents get indirect attention and must learn how to handle the awkward comments/compliments/questions from perfect strangers (that, my friends, could be an entire series of blog posts).

(And if you're like us and seemingly dress your daughter in frilly, girly - dare I say pink - clothes all the time EXCEPT when you go to the grocery store, you'll never visit the deli counter again without being told you have an handsome son. Seriously. Almost without fail, when we go to Publix, Elle is mistaken for a boy because she's in blue/red/not-something-pink-or-purple/flowery. We're starting to intentionally plan her wardrobe for grocery days. Sorry, Baby Girl!)

But there's an entirely different level of conversation that now takes place - the one between parents.

In my observations, there are virtually no boundaries when you're talking to other parents. If I go to the doctor, I keep to myself and thumb through a magazine or play with my phone while in the waiting room. This week, though, I had to take Elle to the pediatrician, and it was instant conversation with the mom of a 9-month-old boy, Cole, and a family with a 3-year-old girl and 9-month-old girl.

Cole's mom and I talked about the nine-month vaccinations; the eating habits of our kids; the fact that Cole likes to be on his back or standing, while Elle would rather sit or crawl. Cole's full head of hair made Elle look like James Taylor. I watched the 9-month-old baby girl stand and play with toys in the waiting room, marveling at how tall she is (30.5 inches!). She was quiet but alert and had intense, bright blue eyes. These babies were less than four weeks apart in age but allll over the board in terms of development, habits and size.

But this is what makes this little "secret society" so fascinating - each kid is so different, such an individual, but the bond of parenthood? It unites. Like Super Glue. I've always said that kids are great conversation starters, but I never knew just how true that was until I had Elle. I love sharing that "Mom-bond" with others, but I have to admit I'm still a little taken aback by the conversation. I'm not sure how much to volunteer, what to say that won't be judged, what to ask that doesn't make me look lame or a newbie. Cole's mom talked about how he eats nine jars of food a day; with baby-led weaning, I don't measure in jars. She mentioned how many ounces he drank in his bottles; since I breastfeed Elle, I don't have the same measurements.

Then a couple emerged from the examination rooms with a car seat containing a 6-pound, 7-ounce, one-week-old baby boy, and the bond re-emerged. We stopped and looked at the tiny baby and wondered how our nine-month-olds were ever that small. I always hated when people told me Elle was "so small" when she was two weeks old, one month old, etc. But here we were: The annoying parents of no-longer-newborns, talking about mobility, solids and teeth, in awe of this tiny wonder.

Elle continues to grow, from that newborn in to a (gasp) almost-10-month-old joy, but the many sides of parenthood? Also evolving.