My baby little girl is three today!

THREE!

Where did this year go?  Where did the past three years go? And yet, it seems like a lifetime since she slipped out of my womb and into my world.  Well, it is a lifetime - hers!

I am so glad there really isn’t such a thing as a freeze gun.  To think that this time last year, all I wanted to do was freeze her at that two year old state because I didn’t believe it could get any better than that.  And the year before, again I just wanted to freeze her at one year because I honestly didn’t believe it could get any better than that.

One would think I would by now have learned my lesson by now, but no.  I would freeze her at three years old if I could because really, could it possibly get any better than this? I find that hard to believe.

So yeah, it’s a good thing there isn’t a freeze gun.  I think of all the amazing things she has done this past year, and all the joy and wonder she has brought into my life.  The idea that I might have missed out on all that is truly frightening. But… I want her to stay right here. I love this stage! I want to bask in it forever.  Although I trust that there are many more surprises and joys yet to come, I can’t even fathom them at this time.

So today we start another year because (thankfully) freeze guns don’t exist!  And as I sit here wishing I could hold her forever in this state, despite the lesson I have learned that it does indeed keep getting better, I realize that all this means in the end is that I believe she is perfect in every way, everyday.

Happy Birthday to my forever baby!

My daughter loves to sing. She is always singing something.  Most of the time, it is the usual fare like “Itsy Bitsy Spider” or “Wheels on the Bus”, etc.  But now and again she will sing her own tune, one that she makes up as she goes along.  She tends to sing about her immediate surroundings or what she is doing right then and there.  And truth be told, they aren’t exactly compelling ditties.

For example, she will sway in place and sing, “I see the kitty on the couch.  Daddy is downstairs.  Mommy has to dye her haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaair!”

Not exactly moving, or catchy for that matter.  But as Simon would say, “She makes it her own.”  And Randy without a doubt would call her “authentic”.  And lovely Paula would have tears in her eyes when she says Piper “sings from the heart.”

She is very inspired by American Idol, so it was no surprise when she grabbed her microphone last night while we were watching the show. Only this time she started singing, “Keep on moving, keep on moving, you gotta keep on moving…”  My stepdaughter and I just looked at each other.  This was quite an improvement over “I got cheerios, I got cheerios in a bowl.”   The entire time she’s singing, she rocking back and forth with one leg stretched in front of the other, sort of… well, sort of like she was dancing. 

So there we were, actually enjoying this new song as we watched her groove along for a few minutes.  And then she hit us with the grand finale.

“You gotta keep on moving, keep on moving. Go down the stairs. It’s a fire drill.”

I am now a full fledged member of the “Parents of a kid” club.  We went to Chuck E Cheese yesterday.  For some reason, even with nieces and friends with kids, I have managed to avoid this place completely until yesterday.  But with a sick husband and scattered rain showers, I finally broke down.  I really had few alternatives, believe me.  I had to get the child out of the house and into a self-engaging environment before I went completely nuts.

Now people have warned me about this place.  They told me to take Advil before going (I forgot).  They told me to eat before I go (I forgot).  They basically had me scared shit of ever going there.  And really, in truth, I have to say it wasn’t that bad.  Perhaps I am not a good judge, considering it was my salvation and last hope for sanity yesterday.  Or, maybe it was just seeing my little girl’s smile stretched from ear to ear.

Typical Piper, she had me back and forth, back and forth.  First she wanted to go on the mini carousel.  So I waited for it to stop and all the kids to get off (there are only three horses to sit on).  I put her on, put in the token… it starts up - “I want to get off!”

Two minutes later, she is running back over to the carousel, begging to go on.  We wait for it to stop, the kids to get off, I put her on, plop the token in, it starts going around, she wants to get off.

We went through this whole routine three times before I finally realized what was going on.  She was being typical Piper all right, but the sweet and lovely typical Piper.  All she wanted was to ride around in circles with the other kids.  Once she realized she was the only one going around, she was no longer interested.  So after I figured this out, I quickly plopped her on a horse when no one was looking (while still spinning) and then quickly slapped in a token the minute it ended, thus trapping the other poor souls for another spin.  She grinned and grinned and giggled her head off. 

The other two were ready to leave, but I convinced them to go another round again just so I could watch that smile a little while longer.  I could have stayed there all day, shoving in the remaining thirty-five tokens one after another. But alas, the other kids got bored and left.  Rotten spoiled kids, ruining my baby’s fun.

Anyway, I have to say that Chuck E Cheese isn’t as cheesy as I thought it would be. We’ll be back again.  Mostly because no one warned that the games were only one token each and now I have a shitload of them left. Of all the things I was warned about, no one told me that it was way cheaper than Dave & Busters. Just like no one told me how quick they are to clear you table and throw away your half eaten pizza!  Or that hand sanitizer is an absolute must!

But now that I am a Chuck E Cheese veteran, I will be more prepared next time.  Most of all, I won’t forget my camera and miss capturing that incredible smile!

During one of my psychology classes in college, we studied the cycle of abuse.  It was very distressing and depressing. However, I the one thing I remember the most was reading one paragraph that went on and on about how children are especially vulnerable to verbal abuse.  They stressed how unkind words, degrading speech or threats of any kind caused severe scars and emotional trauma for life.

I just remember being in a total state of shock.  Obviously, the person who wrote this text was not Italian.  According to the author’s assessment, I should either be a complete basket case or a homicidal maniac, because I grew up with threats of great bodily harm on a daily basis.

“Get in this house right now or I will break both your legs!”

“Touch it again and I will chop that finger right off!”

“If you so much as utter another word, I will rip that tongue right out of your mouth!”

Worse yet, as far as any of us kids knew, this was all according to God’s will.

“Dear Lord, give me the strength to beat some sense into this child!”

“As God is my witness, I will never cook another meal in my lifetime and you will all starve to death!”

“So help me God if I have to get off of this couch, you will never see another sun rise again!”

I mean, c’mon. Even though I was threatened with such atrocities, I knew my mother loved me and there were no lasting scars or traumatic consequences as a result.  No matter how loud my mother’s voice got, I knew she would never really crack my head open with that wooden spoon.

Still, now that I am a mother and have a child of my own, I must admit that the author was right about one thing.  Children tend to adopt the same behaviors and continue the cycles with which they grew up.  In other words, I am just as much an Italian drama queen as my mother was, and as her mother was, and so on.

Mind you, my daughter is barely three years old.  Needless to say, I wouldn’t dream of threatening her with physical punishment.  No, those threats are saved for the middle years when they really have some effect.  Likewise, the teenage years are saved for threats of disinheritance or being thrown out on the streets in the dead of winter without a penny to your name.  As for the wee young years, us drama queens stick to the more benign stuff, like begging all the heavenly saints for more guidance or questioning the Lord above what we did in a past life to deserve such torture. 

Considering my age and how much practice I have had being an adult drama queen, it should come as no surprise that I had mastered this trait by the time Piper was even born.  Let me tell, I know how utterly shocking this must seem to anyone that did not grow up in such an environment.  It was years before my husband could shrug his shoulders and walk away, without really worrying about whether or not I was going to have a nervous breakdown over dropping the dish towel.  But I must say, my daughter has adapted quite well, probably because she knows no other type of life.  The other night when I was just about at my wits end, she seemed to be barely phased. 

After an agonizing trip to the potty which took thirty minutes longer than humanly possible, we were heading back downstairs.  We were almost there, about halfway down the steps, when she decided she had to go back upstairs to turn the light out.  Well, I basically lost it.  I stood on the steps, clasping my hands together in prayer and asked the sweet baby Jesus for the patience to get me through this ordeal.  I shook my fists up to the high heavens and ask why my dear God insists on putting me through such anguish.  I made the sign of the cross and swore before all the saints and angels that I would never ever again complain about being bored if they could just make this child get to the bottom of these steps before I die.

The entire time Piper watched me with mild curiosity.  When I finally paused for a breath, she cocked her head the side and asked me with sincere concern in her voice, “What’s the matter mommy?  Am I killing you again?”