Yesterday, Isabella turned 32 months old.
There have been BIG changes in her world over the past month.
Monumental and Miraculous.
She is POTTY TRAINED!
As you may recall, we tried potty training her twice before. Once was a half-assed effort on my part last August just before she turned two. I was hugely pregnant with the twins and could barely stand up. I dressed her in underwear, set out the potty, and basically told her to use it. That was the extent of my effort. She had accidents all over the place and didn't care or feel embarrassed about it, so that told me she wasn't ready. Then, we tried again back in February
with even more disastrous results.
This time around, we talked up the first day of training (which coincided with the start of my husband's week-long vacation from work because there was no way in hell I was tackling potty training on my own) beginning weeks beforehand. On the big day of "no more diapers" we dressed her in underwear, told her to let us know if she had to use the potty, and left it at that. And guess what? She did. No drama. No hysterics. No fear. No crying. And not a single accident to date. On Day 1 she peed in it several times and left her other business for the pull-up we dressed her in for her nap. On Day 2, she was doing both in the potty without a problem, and looking for her M&M reward each and every time. Most often her pull-up is dry after her nap, and a few times it's been dry overnight.
I am so incredibly proud of her. As ridiculous as it sounds, I literally had tears in my eyes as I watched her sit on the potty and go as if it were no big deal. I was dreading this third go-round of potty training and was convinced we would be sending her to kindergarten in diapers, and she completely surprised me with how well she did.
Isabella also had her first haircut this past month, another major event I was dreading. My mother had me convinced I would traumatize my daughter for life if I took her for a haircut. It seems my sister completely freaked out at the hair salon following the hack job I did on her long and flowing blond locks when she was three and I was four, and about a month ago, mamacita sent me a long email telling me that Isabella has rights and if she doesn't want to have her hair cut, I shouldn't take her because "she has a right to have her feelings honored and validated." I then asked mamacita that since Isabella doesn't like having her fingernails and toenails trimmed either, should I avoid cutting them also? I told her I wasn't donating one of her kidneys to science; I was having a few inches cut off her hair.
Guess what? Isabella did wonderfully. Of course, the lollipop she got to pick from a bucket and the strategically placed tvs playing Sesame Street at the salon where I took her might have had something to do with it. The stylist could have operated on her brain and Isabella wouldn't have cared. She even let the stylist put a fancy ribbon in her hair when she was done-something she usually fights me on at home.
Gone are the straggly strings of her mama-inherited superfine hair trailing down her back. The stylist gave me a few strands to put in her baby book. (Sob!)
And again, I was so incredibly proud of her for being such a good girl.
Isabella is really turning the corner on the abhorrent behavior she was exhibiting earlier this year. She picks up her toys (and the babies' toys!) without an issue now and even asks us, "Is it time for cleanup?" There are still some temper tantrums, but they are fewer in number. Dare I say that my two-year-old is actually pleasant to be around most of the time? Feel free to reach through the screen and slap me.
She tells elaborate and imaginative stories with multiple characters and plot lines when we ask her to tell us a story (rather than the reverse, which she asks of us often). She's memorized quite a few books and "reads" them to herself. She's also becoming very fond of adverbs. We must do things "very, very quickly" or she'll tip-toe upstairs "very, very softly" since the babies are sleeping. She also has a flair for the dramatic, as she likes to tell us she has a "terrible, terrible cold" as an excuse for why she doesn't want to give us or someone else a hug or kiss (when she's actually perfectly healthy). A fake cough often accompanies this statement.
Today, Isabella went with the hubs to school for Bring Your Daughter to Work Day. He woke her up early, and instead of being a grouch as she usually is when awakened prematurely, she was happy and excited and gave me some huge hugs from her bed. I dressed her, put her hair in pigtails, helped her with her coat, and on her way out the door, she strapped on her Dora backpack that she's taken to carrying everywhere she goes. In that instant before she left with him, I saw the "big girl" in my baby. In September, she'll head to her own school, where she'll have a whole world open up to her-one that I'm not a part of. And as much as I'm ready for her to spend some time apart from me, it makes me sad that my baby is growing up so fast.
I picked her up at 11am today from the hubs' school, and Isabella came running toward me, arms outstretched, and gave me an enormous hug. She wrapped her arms around me, put her head on my shoulder and said, "I told you I'd come back." Keep reminding your mama of that baby. This growing up stuff is hard on her too.
Current Likes: Dora, bubbles, paint-with-water books
Current Dislikes: Staying inside, keeping her shoes and socks on