The trouble with the month of March is that you can't count on the weather to be consistent. Our front-hall closet is brimming with every scrap of outerwear we own: puffers for thirties (or colder, ugh), parkas for forties, slickers for rain, fleeces for layering, and light jackets for all those other days when you could probably go coatless but you know you'd only be asking for a cough. Oh, but we are so ready for a change, and to be regularly out of the house! The craft closet is low on supplies (and I don't feel like restocking, frankly), and I'm tired of root vegetables (except beets; I cannot tire of beets). Summer will come soon, I know. But I am praying to Demeter or Persephone or whomever the correct nymph or goddess or spirit or whathaveyou may be that we have a proper springtime. Meaning days on end when it's cool in the shade but warm in the sun, with a fragrance in the air. Yes yes yes, please.
Cecile is really something, lately. She's been crafting these little webs of lies. Nothing harmful, and even plausible, but absolutely untruthful. An example: The other day I made pasta for dinner with a pesto sauce. She has liked pesto in the past and it's a good way to sneak in some spinach. "I already tried this today at school and I don't like it," she says. See, I know none of this is true. And if I press her for details or ask if her teacher would confirm, she backpedals and admits the fabrication was "only in my dream, Mommy." And speaking of dreaming, she has had trouble sleeping through the night lately. Nightmares. She will come to our room and silently stand by my pillow until I wake up (yes, it's a little ... creepy). Then Jon or I will march her back to her bedroom and lay with her for a little bit, coaxing her back to sleep with varying degrees of success. These can be long nights. We're dealing with a growing, very active mind.
Genevieve is eating everything in sight. She doesn't question what's on her plate. "Try," "eat," "buy more" are things I hear from her often, and I'm trying to expose her to as much variety as possible during what I see as an open window for exploring different tastes and textures and varying degrees of spice. And she loves spice! It's great. Also, I am trying to wean her. Or I'm trying to try to wean her. It's difficult because we both so enjoy it, and unlike Cecile (weaned just shy of 22 months), she only asks for it before nap and nighttime, so it's always at home and on my terms, which is wonderful. I am ready to stop, to buy new bras and to wear "access-less" outfits once again. I also fully know that nursing her forever will not keep her a baby forever ... something I'm dealing with as we march ever closer to her second birthday.
Speaking of independence, I went away for two nights. It was the first time I traveled alone and not pregnant since before I was pregnant with Cecile. That's almost six years! Long, long, long overdue! Oh, I missed the girls terribly. Jon, too. Actually, what the trip crystallized for me more than anything was how badly Jon and I need to get away together. We have a few childless mini-trips for weddings on the horizon and are very, very much looking forward to the break. Everyone always says it and it is cliche, but they are right: Leaving your children makes you a better parent. I believe it because after my time away I have lived it.
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