Comma Dot Comma

We moved Abi into a big girl bed earlier this week. She likes to be tucked in with a sheet, blanket and pillow, which is a real hassle to accomplish in the crib. She also likes to lay down in her bed for short rests during the day, which is also a pain. I lift her in, she rests for two minutes, then cries because she’s afraid she’s been abandoned. So I thought I’d test the waters and and asked her if she would like a big girl bed. “Yes!” said Abigail, immediately. For the rest of the week, every time we left the house, she asked if I was going to the store to get her big girl bed. Finally, one night at dinner when she asked yet again if she could have it, I said okay and went to dismantle her crib. My plan was to use the crib as a toddler bed and just remove the drop side. Then I realized I didn’t have a bed rail for it and sent Dr. G. out to the big box store at 7 pm to find one. No luck. He came back with a Dora the Explorer toddler bed instead and assembled it at superhero speeds for her first night in a “real” bed.

Abi didn’t like it. Neither did I. Nor did Dr. G. It was cheap, ugly, and uncomfortable, not to mention covered with Dora stickers. So we returned it after a few days and put her crib back up with a bed rail on it. Now we are back to near-daily Failed Naps, though she does okay at night. She doesn’t know how to open her door yet, so we haven’t had any incidents of a child trying to sneak around with a blanket over her head. One day she piled every fluffy thing she could find onto her bed– the throw rug, extra pillows and blankets, clothing– and tried and failed to sleep on the pile. Another time she emerged with ponytail holders on every single finger. She’s gotten pretty good at knocking– she’ll pound away at the door shouting, “Kitty Cat wants to come out!” Today she spent quite some time pushing items of clothing under the door. The nap time wasn’t a total loss, though; when we opened the door, she was wearing shoes. She had finally figured out how to put them on.

Here’s Abigail’s level of commitment to the fantasy that she is a little cat. Yesterday she was in a two-minute time out for coloring on the dining room table instead of on paper. She wailed, tucked obediently into the little corner between the armoire and the hallway. But not only that– she yowled and meowed between wails. She crouched down on all fours and shouted, “Look at the baby cat! Baby cat is sad! Baby cat wants to go out!” I spent the two minutes listening to those tortured meows mixed in with the crying and thought, You’ve got to be kidding me. Surely she’ll outgrow this sometime. I look forward to the day when I refer to her as Abi or Abigail and do not hear that sweet voice correcting me: “It’s Abi Cat, Mommy.”

We just got back a few days ago from a visit to the Oregon relatives, where Abigail was doted on night and day and we enjoyed the sunny 70-degree weather by staying outside as much as possible. We lounged on the grass, played in the park, and visited the little creek behind the house. Abigail picked raspberries and blueberries that she refused to eat. Dr. G. taught Abigail that states come in colors: Oregon is green, and Arizona is brown. Nice.

What Abigail was most interested in doing in Oregon was hunting cats, preferably the family cat, though any neighborhood cat would do. Her grandma has an outdoor cat named Gizmo, who comes and goes as he pleases. Thus, the refrain of the visit was, “Where’s Gizmo go?” Of course we didn’t know, so we hit upon a standard answer: “He’s busy doing cat stuff.”
“What’s cat stuff?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Running in the field. Climbing trees. Sleeping. Looking at interesting things. Chasing bugs and eating them.”

When Gizmo did come home, Abigail was usually too shy to interact with him much. Grandma let her help put cat food in the bowl, and she liked to watch him play from a safe distance, but that was about the extent of it. Once she said, “Hi, Gizmo! I’m a little cat too!”

Now that she is home, she still asks occasionally, “Where’s Gizmo go?” Sometimes her Kitty Cat becomes Gizmo for awhile. (We actually FORGOT Kitty Cat in Oregon! Gasp! Abigail took it remarkably well, waiting patiently for her cat to arrive by priority mail and allowing Little Bear to sub in for bedtimes).

But the real joy for her is the imaginative fodder of “cat stuff.” She is now “busy doing cat stuff,” several times a day, crawling around with a ribbon hanging out the back of her pants like a tail, pretending to catch bugs and eat them, among other things. She brought me a bunch of imaginary white bugs with dots on them and asked me to hold them for her.

The other event that made a huge impression was the frightening sound of a tree branch crashing to the forest floor. When we explained what it was she wanted us to a) sing a song about it and b) fix it. At least once a day she still looks at me with concern and says in a breathy voice, “There’s a branch fall on the ground.” No matter how many times I sing to her about how happy the branch is to finally be on the ground, having gotten so tired of being up high, she doesn’t believe me. Oh well.

It’s been a rough couple days over here as each of us in succession has been hit by some kind of 24-hour stomach flu bug. Abigail had it first on Wednesday, and her case was the mildest. Dr. G. got it yesterday and his was the worst, and now I have it today. Thankfully, a good night’s rest restored both of them to health and I’m hoping it will be the same for me. Sickness in her parents is causing Abigail all kinds of heartache.

“Daddy, you sick! I HAVE to HELP you!” she said yesterday, voice quavering. She helped in every way she could think of– blankets, bears, greeting cards, drinks, belts draped artfully across his head. It took serious effort on my part (allowing her to use the ice dispenser to make Daddy an ice water) to redirect her from her stated plan to bring Daddy his favorite cereal. During any downtime in the day she rushed to cuddle with him, and before she went to bed she prayed for him too. This morning when he reported that he felt much better, Abigail announced with relief, “You feel happy now!”

I’ve been able to hide my symptoms a little better so as to avoid undue stress, but this evening I had to pass Abigail off to her father because holding her had become too much. When she protested, I told her my tummy hurt. Her eyes filled with tears and she anxiously patted me: “I help you feel better, Mommy! I have to help you feel better.” She got more upset the more she thought about it, verging on outright sobs, and I had to reassure her that I felt better already. Tah-Dah! She gave me several doses of imaginary medicine just to make sure. It’s almost as if she feels a responsibility to take care of her family when they are unwell, and gets stressed out thinking about the burden, in addition to just worrying about us. But it is quite touching to be comforted and cared for by such a wee one. It does seem to help.