Another list of ridiculous things my daughter has said

Out of sight of strangers, BB continues to talk non-stop.  Sunday morning she was fast asleep. She opened her eyes, sat up and started singing “Wheels on the Bus.” We squeezed in 5 seconds of quiet awake time.

I hosted book club last week and BB was not pleased to be missing out. I told her that she’d have book club with Captain up in her room. This morning she tells me,

“I’m having book club.”

“Oh good.”

“I need 2 books and some wine.”

 

The other morning she woke up and wouldn’t stop rubbing her eyes,

“Sleep dirt in my eyes, maybe I need to see the eye doctor.”

Maybe.

 

In Acadia, Captain put her in the backpack for a low-key hike. BB had a super serious face and wasn’t talking. I was concerned about whether or not she was enjoying herself. I ask,

“BB are you ok?”

No response.

“BB, do you like the backpack? Are you having fun?”

No response.

“BB??”

She breaks her silence and orders,

“Keep walking.”

 

The other day I was changing her diaper and my mother-in-law was at her feet. BB farted and said,

“I tooted.”

My mother-in-law said,

“I heard.”

BB adds,

“It was a juicy one.”

 

And this last quote could easily be TMI, but it’s kinda my favorite, so here ya go. I was changing BB’s diaper and she was poking herself. I said,

“That’s your vagina, I have one too.”

She looks at me and replies,

“You have a hairy one.”

 

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Baby Bop finds her voice

Baby Bop is a legitimate person. I made that decision a long time ago when the two of us went in the HOV lane, but I still find myself being taken aback by her emerging personhood.

She is not a baby anymore and needs an updated blog name. I’ve got no spectacular ideas so I’m going with BB for now.

BB has a lot to say. Usually she’s too reserved to speak up in public. Every week at the grocery store I try to go to the same cashier. It’s nice to know that she’ll accept BB’s death stare and not torture all of us by trying to get her to break.

I’ve given up on cutting BB’s hair myself. A couple months ago I went to a salon that markets itself for kids. I will never drag BB in there again.

I thought it would be fun. Instead we had to wait while 2 other kids screamed. BB looked torn and appeared to be deciding whether she should cry too. I whipped out a video on my phone before she could make a decision.

Five minutes and $20 later we were out of there. BB didn’t even cry, but they still rushed us along and gave her a mediocre cut. A month later with her bangs in her face, we have to try somewhere else. I want it cheap and close to home.

I find a tiny, low-key, barber shop. We walk in and there’s a kiddie chair with tires and a steering wheel. This feels like we hit the jackpot.

The stylist is finishing one guy and greets us with,

“Two ahead of you, won’t be long.”

Two grown men, who look like they haven’t had a hair cut in a year, are ahead of us. I’m happy neither are crying.

We sit down to wait and I point out the “tractor chair” to BB. She’s thrilled. She’s also concerned with the men getting their hair cut. She points at all the hair on the floor and tells me.

“A mess.”

“Yeah.”

“Dirty, a mess.”

“Yes it’s a lot of hair.”

“Mommy clean it up.”

“It’s ok, it doesn’t need to be cleaned up right now.”

And now uncharacteristically for BB in public, she raises her voice and demands,

“Mommy, a mess, dirty, clean it up.”

“It’s ok. It’s hair and the stylist is very busy. It’ll get cleaned up later.”

BB now is speaking at a volume that causes all other conversations in the barber shop to cease.

“MOMMY! A MESS! CLEAN IT UP!”

GOOD GRIEF! Are we about to have a tantrum? And does my daughter have a dose of the OCD that runs in my family but may have missed me? Every carpet fuzzy she finds comes straight to me with a demand to put it in the trash.

BB survives until it’s her turn to get her haircut. The stylist, who is the only one in the shop and hasn’t been sweeping up for the sake of saving time, tells BB,

“I’ll sweep up and then I’m ready for you.”

BB concurs,

“A mess.”

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I’m over this diaper thing

Aside from sleeping or not sleeping like she’s out for revenge, Baby Bop is in a delightful stage. She’s chill. Or at least compared to Baby Bop of 6 months ago. She’ll let me out of her eyesight without assuming I’ve abandoned her forever.

She’s often happy to play by herself and even understands when I tell her to. She still has her clingy moments, but the minute she has a dirty diaper she is hard to find. I smell her across the room and I say,

“Do I smell poopies?”

Yes, these are the quality conversations we have. Baby Bop looks at me in consternation. She does not want to leave her toys to go change her diaper. I’d be happy to let her keep playing in her poop if it weren’t for diaper rashes.

I say,

“Diappie time!”

Baby Bop looks at me and declares,

“Mommy wash dishes. Baby Bop play.”

In other words she just asked me to leave her alone. And boy do I wish I could!

A few days later I smell poop and she tries again. She points at my computer,

“Mommy work. Baby bop play.”

She hasn’t learned the word “blog” yet.

And best/worst of all is she has turned into a parrot. I heard and smelled something funny, so I tell her,

“I need to check your diaper.”

“A peek?”

“Yup, going to take a peek.” There’s a small streak and without thinking I say,

“Just a juicy fart.”

Baby Bop prances off singing,

“Juicy fart, juicy fart!”

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When you’re waiting for the doctor, but you really want to wear your new shoes.