I am going to take a break from Cervex-Watch ’06 (Yes, I am still pregnant and no, there are no real updates at this point) to say a little bit about Stella.

We seem to have gotten over the hump in terms of visitors creating chaos in our schedule and routine, and Stella really has shown such amazingly sweet and charming behavior lately that I am almost without words as to what to make of it. I feel that my actual acknowledgement of these observations will immediately jinx it and by the time I finish my next sentence she will be back to melting down at the mere whiff of the word NO.

While this lasts, however, I need to record it forever so that I won’t forget this feeling of utter adoration that has manifested in regards to my first-born.

Aside from the fact that we have not stood witness to the regular spate of irrational physical and emotional breakdowns, she has also bridged some sort of invisible vocabulary chasm. Don’t get me wrong, she still uses the word My in place of I (which I haven’t done much to deter because really, it is pretty darn cute), but overall, her ability to put complex ideas together in words could put some West Virginians to shame (sorry, Brian).

First, there is the thanks-I’ll-be-here-all-week-don’t-forget-to-tip-your-waitresses joke telling she has been working on. Her medium of choice is the knock-knock joke. She has her own way of administering the joke, wherein we actually have to provide the punch line. She will prompt us with both the “Knock, knock” AND the “Who’s There” portion, then we have to come up with something clever to make her laugh. We have scoured the Internet in search of every compilation of knock-knock jokes that we can find, and tried to commit as many of them to memory as possible. The upside to her method is that you can say something completely nonsensical and she will laugh all the same. But, being the good parents we are, we really want her to be able to be all she can be, and are trying to provide her with some quality material. Who knows? We may have a female George Carlin on our hands here.

Aside from her efforts at slaying us with her wicked humor, she has been regaling us with songs and stories and making genuine efforts to participate in our conversations. When we are rude enough to have a conversation without including her she will loudly (but also strangely politely) interrupt us to ask, “What you guys talking about?” Sometimes we take the time to get her up to speed, other times we just give her the highly abridged version – either way, she is just happy to be included. It is such a shocking reminder as to what a real person she is becoming. It is so easy to just assume she is oblivious to what is going on outside her little toddler world. And once again we are faced with the reality that it is time to be careful to censor our actions and our words, as we are now living with someone who will repeat things we have said at dangerously inappropriate times.

More than anything, I find it comforting that as we enter what is bound to be one of the more traumatic transitions in her life, we are beginning things on a high note. She is about as prepared as she is going to get in regards to having a new sister or brother on the way, and I can only be optimistic that she will handle it with all of the grace and goofiness that is Stella.

Lately, Stella has become a giant mirror in which we see a reflection of ourselves, our actions and our words. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes startling, mostly, however it is a wake-up call as to the example we are setting for our first-born child.

Although we love to cook, we also enjoy not to cook – more specifically, we like to eat out. Actually, more specifically than that, we like to take out. In particular, we like to take out from the mexican food restaurant 6 short blocks from our house. Partially this is because it is a.) easy, b.) good, c.) cheap, and d.) because Stella loves mexican food. In particular she worships at the altar of the enchilada – a trait she inherited from her father who held the childhood nickname of “Little Enchilada.” Stella can consume an entire enchilada, rice and beans in one sitting – usually without even stopping for a breath. We are so proud.

Beyond her love of the all-mighty enchilada plate, she now knows the procedure for how it magically arrives on her plate. In fact, tonight when we made the all-too-predictable decision to get take-out from Rita’s, Stella brought me the phone and authoritatively told me, “Here Mommy, call restaurant people and tell them enchilada.” She then promptly turned to Steve and said, “Daddy, my go to restaurant wit you?” It is, of course, at this point that Steve and I make eye contact long enough to realize we are both thinking the same thing: We have become our own worst nightmare. Again.

In searching for a silver lining I can only find consolation in the fact that nowhere in these exchanges is she requesting a Happy Meal, a Coke or a Forty.

Over the last month or so, Stella has realized the cozy lusciousness of snuggling in bed. I think we have managed to learn her up on the difference between middle of the night and morning-time, and which is the appropriate time in which to climb into our bed. (Although she will still give an occasional try to a 2:00am snuggle session). On weekdays, after Steve has gotten up and started his morning rituals like touching all the doorknobs and running regression analysis on the weekly weather forecast, she’ll patter across the hall to come lay in bed with me. It may sound simple and sweet, but there are certain ground rules that Stella never was given access to, and I am now the one paying the price.

Firstly, there is the morning pee ritual. Although she has been absolutely awesome when it comes to potty training, when it comes to that first morning pee, she will fight you to the death. You KNOW she has to go, but when you ask her she adamantly denies it, and when you try to subtly guide her towards the bathroom, she promptly begins the meltdown sequence. The part that is most baffling is that when you finally do wrangle her onto the toilet and make her sit there long enough, she will eventually go and you can literally watch the venom drain from her system. She relaxes. She smiles. The flames shooting from her nostrils are snuffed out with flowery goodness and light.

A screaming 2-year-old at 5:30 in the a.m. just doesn’t really set the tone for a cozy morning ritual. Unless there is some clear and present reason for it, I really don’t find it part of my life-plan to be up before 6:00am – something I am finding harder and harder to enforce. So, on those rare mornings where she will agreeably pee without invoking a screaming tornado first, she’ll make it into bed with me only to begin fidgeting and talking and trying to scoot so close as to be able to crawl underneath my skin. The difficulty I find in this situation is that even though she is wiggling, kicking me, pulling my hair and yelling in my ear, each and every one of those things she is doing with the sweetest and most loving intentions. In Stella’s world, she is playing with my hair (which, for any of you who know her, know that this is A-1 in comfort and happiness), scooting close enough to be nose to nose and telling me,“You da bet mommy ebuh.”

I have pretty much started to resign myself to the fact that once she climbs into bed with me, I won’t be sleeping. And, really, there are far worse things in life than having to wake up a half hour early to lay nose to nose with a cute and snuggly toddler. I do, however, have my work cutout for me in fine-tuning the process. Feel free to post these rules in your own home to deal with spouses, pets or other household members who don’t quite know the rules.

• Snuggle Rule #1: Pee first – and no crying about it.
• Snuggle Rule #2: Whispering only.
• Snuggle Rule #3: No kicking or fidgeting.
• Snuggle Rule #4: No hair pulling.
• Snuggle Rule #5: Kisses mandatory.

When we woke up on Monday and realized the extent of Stella’s cold, I volunteered to do my duty as a dedicated mother and stay home with her. I immediately sensed that Steve was kicking himself that he hadn’t volunteered first. Not to be outdone, he quickly announced that he would arrange to have a sub cover him for Tuesday. The irony to this story is that after each of us spent a full day at home with her, and had to make the decision if we needed to keep her at home any longer, we began heartily convincing each other that “she really seems to have turned the corner!” and “look, her nose is barely even running anymore!” and “really, we hardly had to get up with her at all last night!” The obvious subtext being: “PLEEEEEEASE let me go back to work!”

When you realize that you can take a legitimate sick day off work even though you are not actually sick, AND you aren’t faking sick, or taking liberties with a “mental health day,” you get this deep down little feeling like “Woo Hoo! This is so cool!” You get so wrapped up in the idea of getting a day off from work that you forget that your cumulative lack of sleep is starting to make you hallucinate, and that it is pouring rain outside, AND that a sick two-year-old is pretty much the equivalent of an angry swarm of bees.

She continued to get more and more sleep deprived, but adamantly refused to nap anywhere but on the couch – and absolutely no longer than at 15 minute intervals. Because of her fever, she flat-out refused any food offered to her – no matter that we had reached the point where we were offering her sugary sugar puffs with syrup topping and a side of french fries – just eat SOMETHING! Her nose wouldn’t stop running, and she became adamant that she use her sleeve instead of a Kleenex. By the time Steve got home on Monday afternoon both Stella and I were still in our pajamas.

When I got home from work on Tuesday, Stella was still wearing the same pajamas. Aside from the fact that she had been wearing the exact same clothing for almost 48 continuous hours, Steve also informed me that they had gone out in public together. “In that?!” I asked. “Yeah, and her pair of black rubber irrigation boots. Oh, and her jean jacket.” Nice.

At that point there was no question in my mind: Stella was going back to day care, we were going back to work, and we’d all just pretend like none of this ever happened.