Mes filles

Sophie’s coloring is presenting a challenge to me. Well, not really. Please note that this is a minor, if not completely facetious post. But she’s fair! Fair skinned. And very unlike Madeleine in coloring. Madeleine was our little tan baby. And while most of her clothes are off-season for Sophie, the few things of hers that do fit, just don’t look quite as cute or right on her. I love Sophie exactly how she is, but I’m used to the dark hair, brown skin look, both in Madeleine and myself. And Marc, really. Clothes look different on different skin tones. It’s like Mary and Laura in Little House in the Big Woods where Mary always wears blue hair ribbons and Laura pink or red. Madeleine looked ADORABLE in pale yellow dresses, but when I put them on Sophie... ahh.... nope, not so much. She looks so much better in blue! Although this, in combination with her bald head, may lend to even more strangers mistakenly identifying her as a boy. Oh well! It’s her color. I guess I’d rather her clothes compliment her skin tone than her looks portray her gender more obviously. Ha!

Baby skin is so soft and baby wide-mouthed smiles and kisses are indescribably delicious.

So, I have a friend from Europe who has lived here for 8 years and has two adorable little boys. Whom she has NEVER left... okay, once, she said, when she gave birth to her second son, she left her older son in the care of a friend for a few hours. Aside from that, she’s always with her boys. Yes, they spend time with their dad and go to preschool without her, but, they’ve never had a babysitter or anyone non-mom/non-dad watch them. Amazing! Right? Or strange? Or I wonder if it’s strange to her that Marc and I, as Americans, and the majority of our friends, appear to want to be away from our children at times. They’ve not had a date night, a restaurant meal without them, nothing... astounding. And, she’s an AWESOME mom! Great parenting, really respectful, happy, non-clingy boys. So, from what I see, no ill-effects. Imagine that...

Sophie is not eating. Oh, no worries, she’s still breastfeeding like a champ, and I’m grateful, don’t misunderstand. But she’s not eating anything else. Not toys, rarely her hands, not a bottle, not a sippy cup, not food. And she’s 6 months! To date, after 1 week of trying “solids” (banana, rice and oatmeal cereal made up with breastmilk and water)... she’s probably downed about ¾ a teaspoon. That’s right. That’s all. We’re trying avacado this week, but I’m none too optimistic. Maybe I should just skip this and go right to Indian food and baked potato heaped with cheese and sour cream. Then she’ll get a taste of the REALLY good stuff and finally realize that FOOD IS SOOOOOO GOOD! I mean, not to knock my own output, but can my breastmilk really be that good? I find it hard to believe, not matter how well what I eat filters into my milk. I just cannot believe that she doesn’t want food. She IS my child, right?

Madeleine is 3! A friend told me that 3 year olds are just 2 year olds with experience. I see the truth in this. She’s coy, she’s manipulative, she’s dramatic, she’s wise, she’s... okay, she’s good things too! She’s loving, she’s got great verbal skills, she’s potty-trained, she dresses herself, she is helpful around the house, she’s a truly adoring and kind big sister. We LOVE her. She’s wiggly and tiny still which makes me think of her as my baby. She is... she’s my baby who first made me a mother and I just look at her in awe sometimes. Especially when she keeps asking me to carry her up or down the stairs. (“I want to carry you, Mom!” Uh, excuse me? First of all, you mean you want ME to carry YOU and secondly, what in the world? You’re 3! Walk your own little self up these stairs!) Her long, scrawny legs which thankfully, (knock on wood) for the most part, are devoid of eczema, are just towering under her now-too-short sundresses from last summer. She sleeps on the floor - her choice, not some mean punishment inflicted by her parents - rolling all over the place; she once used to sleep in bed with Marc and I. Sigh. She did. I think that if she doesn’t end up with a career in the theatre she will have missed her natural potential and life-calling. She’s SO dramatic and expressive. It’s actually uncanny, unnerving and hilarious. She’s definitely got her own spunk and personality that is brilliantly evident. Oh, and she’s a killer. A bug killer. All those poor worms, ladybugs, and rolly-pollies that she finds everyday are subject to slow and painful deaths no matter how much Marc and I protest. She adores them, finds them, carries them EVERYWHERE with her, in the palm of her sweaty, dirty little hand, and they slowly die... but she says they’re sleeping. Oh yes dear, an eternal sleep. Now, if only she would sleep a little more herself. Naps, anyone? Yes, please!