Dear lovely Bird,
You have officially lost your little Birdy mind. And with that little mind went your verbal filter, because good Lord, you have started talking. And you haven't stopped. Not even when you sleep, because in the thick of the night, you break through the silence with a rousing rendition of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom or your garbled version of a lullaby.
"Mama, you took a train from Pennsylvania to Rhode Island! That's nice."
"Mama, the beach. Let's go? Okay!"
"I saw a bird in a tree and it was in a tree a BIRD!"
"What Prussia doing?"
"I don't want to wear socks. I want to wear my buss-a-rye wings." (Butterfly wings.)
And your learning curve about diabetes is growing by leaps and bounds. I took a few days off from pumping (Impromptu pump vacation, born out of frustration with a dress I wanted to wear. A few days of Levemir injections and Humalog pens wore thin, so I reconnected this morning.), and you noticed right away.
"Pump, mama? Where your meh-cine?"
"I took it off for a few days. It's okay. I'll put it back on soon."
"Okay," you said, absently. And then about twenty minutes later: "Mama, your pump is for diiiii-aaaaaah-beeeee-teeeees!!!"
"Diabetes" has a very specific vocal range, when it comes from you. It's a song, it's a command, it's something you say with your thumbs jutted out and your mouth in a wide grin, having no idea what it means but you like the way it sounds. "Mama's meh-cine for diabeteeeeeeeez!" This statement is usually followed by a dance, with your elbows out and your knees bobbing.
Dancing is your other passion these days, aside from talking incessantly. You dance everywhere. We went out to eat last night and you were up on the booth, dancing at the very concept of chocolate cake. "Choc-it cake, mama! Yay!!" And out come the wild elbows and assorted Birdy dance moves. (Your moves are enviable. And videoable, when your mom and dad are able to stop laughing for long enough to switch on the camera.)
Oh wait ... you have one other new passion. Tantrums. Epic, insane tantrums that convert me from calm Mom to Mayor of Crazytown. You yell "NO!" with such precision that it snaps my eardrums into two and makes me sweat instantly. In the last few weeks, I've started speaking in those maternal interrogatories. "Do you want me to turn this car around?" "Do you want leave the store now, because you're acting bonkers?" And the classic: "Do you want to go in time out?" (You put yourself in time out now. And sometimes, you put me in time out. We're all in a learning curve here.)
You make my life interesting. You stress me out in ways I didn't think were possible. And you make my heart explode when you say something as simple as, "Yes, please, mama." I love you bunches, Birdy. But please, slow down; I can't keep up.