The Girl Who Learned To Kneel

Dear Elsie,

I’m full of fear for you sometimes.

Not a great first line is it, Elsie Pelsie? Sorry. Mostly I’m all about looking toward our divine future as mother and daughter. But once in a while (okay a lot), I hear radio programs about abducted children and H1N1 and death by Craisins—all which scare the shit out of me. So then I have to resurrect the fort in my walk-in closet. The one Daddy built for me when I was 18, which is fortunately the one I’m still inhabiting at 29. Damn, is it spacious and perfect for an extended huddle. That way nobody can breathe on you except for me (my breath is okay because it’s consistently exquisite and germ-free) and you can’t eat dirt. You’re welcome.

But seriously, I do fear that you will lose all your creativity, or more precisely be educated out of your creativity as that TED dude warned. Or that someone will say something to you and shame you. Or that the perfectionism I inherited will be your Achilles’ heel too. How do I preserve your curiosity? Your zest? Your pure joy? Maybe that’s every parent’s mission.

Lately you’ve been absorbing the word ‘No.’ For example, I have been teaching you about ‘No biting.’ Mostly because I want to preserve my nipples! So you gently press your teeth onto my index finger and say ‘No, no, no’ to demonstrate your understanding. You repeat the game over and over until I’m hysterical. But then I have to compose myself and feign seriousness because, truly, I don’t want to be bitten. And I also want you to respond to the word ‘No.’ That way when you’re about to do something really dangerous, and I have to scream, ‘No!’ you will react appropriately. By ceasing.

Just planning ahead. I’m all about your safety, Pookalooka. And it’s a good thing because you’ve already started to hurt yourself in small ways. Oh the bad bad world that catches your fingers in laundry baskets and cupboard doors. Oh the uneven ground that propels face plants. It’s made you a little more tentative and careful. Though you still have no qualms about skydiving off of our bed. Go girl!

Your collection of words: ‘Bear,’ ‘Mama,’ ‘Dada’ and then, of course, ‘No, no, no.’ I agree, it works better as a triplet.

You know so much more than you can articulate. I love to watch your little light bulb go on. So does Auntie Natalie. She witnessed you grasp the concept of shoes. You looked from Grandpa’s shoes to Auntie Natalie’s impractical heels to your own pink boots. Around and around you went until the lightbulb went on. Shoes.

You’re brilliant!

You have a fondness for things that go ‘Vroum’ (thank you Bus Book). You love hot cereal in the morning, particularly when you can sample from all of our bowls and eat standing. You love your friend Jeremy, and your babysitter Helyn who carries you to Value Village to buy trucks. You love socks, and sometimes shoes. You love sticking out your tongue and giving me very sloppy kisses. You love muffins. You love laughing. You love, you love, you’re full of love.

My love.

Life is good when you’re fourteen months, isn’t it?

Love love Mama