Transition

Riis started in the toddler room full-time today. I'm melancholy about it, which is silly, because the program is good, and she's already fitting right in: One of the little boys who used to be in the infant room, Isaac, has always adored her, and the toddler teacher told me that he's been leading her around the room, calling her over for circle time, and showing her where to sit for lunch. (Next to him, natch.)

Mostly I'm sad to leave the teachers in the baby room, the wonderful woman who have watched her grown up along with me. They ignored her ornery side and embraced what's always been amazing about her--an independent spirit and sassy sense of humor.

It made me tear up as they did her hair one last time, brushing the thin blond strands into tiny ponytails.

Looks like it's time for me to learn.
***

Our computer decided to work last night, a limited-term engagement certainly, so I spent some time trying to back the photos up. I was struck by the group from last April, April 2008, when Riis was almost 6 months old, just about a year ago. Things were so hectic and crazy--so full of transition--that I feel like we didn't get a chance to fully appreciate her babyhood. So here's a sampling of the baby that was.























This is her THIS April, an 18-month-old whirlwind. She babbles and screeches and giggles and bites. She runs toward me full-out when I enter a room, unconcerned that she inevitably loses her balance from the momentum. When she doesn't get what she wants, she howls, but when she's feeling lovey, she throws her arms around my neck with such joyous, sunny affection that it takes my breath away. Her little pink lips roll out into a perfect pout when she's pretending to be mad, then pull back to reveal her funny little teeth--two rows of four in front, then a gap, then molars. She eats anything and everything, and queries, "crack-ah? coo-kie?" when she's hungry. Her morning and nighttime "Ah-bee" is the highlight of her day, and she's no longer content to drink next to me on the couch. Instead, she scrambles up into my lap, grunting with effort as she wiggles into position. And then, because she's Riis, she points at the tv and waits.

"You want a show?" I ask.

"Kay."