Sweet Sixteen?

Since it is months away from the NCAA basketball tournament, it can only be a how-can-Ada-be-that-old post.

Ada is 16 months old, and for the most part it is just incredibly fantastic. She's busting out with little phrases, mostly of the "Ada cracker" variety. While preparing for a friend's visit by making the guest bed, Ada was entertaining herself by making that effort difficult. Chris recently taught her to pile the pillows in the middle of the bed and jump on them. (I know, maybe not the best idea ever, but what can you do?) She decided that while I was making the bed was a good time to try this out. She bounced around exclaiming "dump! dump!" (I guess Js aren't in her range yet). Not getting the response she wanted, she tried a different tactic, looking up at me and saying what sounded like "I dump!"


After Chris and I stopped laughing, we asked one another to confirm what we'd just heard. Yeah, I heard it too. I know kids this age generally refer to themselves in third person. Makes sense, since what a young child hears all the time is everyone calling her by name. After a while Chris and I realized she was saying "Ada jump" but eliding it to "A-dump."

So my daughter's first sentence sounds like "I dump." Definitely one to store our hearts, maybe breaking it out when we meet her future high school boyfriend.

Beyond the world of words, Ada is maturing in other amazing ways. She sits with her sippy cup of milk every morning, cuddled in my lap while I read her books. She even shows interest in ones that do not feature cats on every page. She's aware of her surroundings and provides a running commentary on what we see on our walks around the neighborhood. She knows Dylan's house from Paul's from Avery's. She talks about bridges and cars and the river. She routinely charms strangers out of sugary snacks at the farmers' market.


She's also scaring the crap out of me. In the past month we've witnessed Ada have a couple of really intense tantrums. This new phenomenon that has blown like a hurricane through our house. Though not (yet) routine, the intensity of her rage and its physical manifestation had me in tears. Both times the tantrums have seemed to come from nowhere. They happened at the end of the day, so maybe fatigue and hunger play their parts, but she's been tired and hungry before without turning into a screaming, arching, flailing monster. When it happened I was completely at a loss. I just hugged and tried to soothe her like I did when she was a colicky four month old. After a minute or two I successfully redirected her for a while until she was calm enough to try dinner without her bucking so hard she risked hitting her head on the back of the chair.

I can not express how frightening these tantrums were to me. They were so unexpected (particularly the first one). Her anger was so intense and I am so unprepared for this new behavior. I naively thought that tantrums didn't start until after two, maybe even later. Apparently I was wrong. (I hope I'm wrong. The alternative is that this is just an Ada thing, which is so much scarier than normal kid-terror.)


Several times recently someone at the park or in a store has commented on what a good natured child Ada is. "Usually" I say sheepishly, a bit embarrassed to be speaking ill of my child to a stranger, but unable to lie and say that she is as ideal as she might appear. I remember these moments from when Ada was an infant. Those colic months were so hard, that even when Ada was sleeping peacefully or cooing sweetly, I could not help but let people know that life with her wasn't all bunnies and flowers. She was hard work, and I wanted people to know it.

Now I am more able to accept the complement on my child's public demeanor, but I still sneak that little hint of "yeah, but." It isn't pretty, but it is a way of coping with this new type of parent-stress. And really, these moments have been so few compared to the hours with my funny, sweet and charming child. Much of my time with her is fun these days, and I really enjoy watching her change and grow. This struggle is about me as much as it is about her. How much can I focus on the positive rather than fretting that her hard moments might be signs of a looming problem? I started writing this post to talk about how great 16 month old Ada is, but thrown by one night's struggle I found myself writing about the difficulties of this age instead. So really, though it is hard, it is also easy. Big hug, whispered words, huge grin, skittering run easy.



Edited to add: the raincoat is from Polliwog in Portland.