Selective amnesia

I remember laying in my hospital bed right after having Natalie, marveling at how perfect she was, in awe of how much I already loved her. I also remember thinking, "why in the world would anyone go through this torture twice?". The pain was still fresh in my mind. My brain and body could still feel the HOURS of agony, of laying on my side, clutching the bed rails, crying and counting to ten over and over and over. And I never wanted to go through it again.

Fast forward two and half years as Larry and I relaxed while our not-so-much-a-baby-anymore slept soundly in her crib. "I think I want another baby." Larry agreed for some reason and nine months later there I was laying in a hospital bed, wishing for relief and wondering again why anyone would willingly do this to themselves.

The brain is a funny thing. It remembers things that you would rather forget and forgets things you really should remember. Four years ago Natalie was two. When I think about that time the images that come back to me are all seen through rose colored glasses. Her chubby legs clad in cable knit tights. Her face as she saw her giant Dora balloon for her birthday. Her joy as she ran across the yard, because she could RUN without FALLING and it was great. The things that don't immediately come to mind are the tantrums. The realization that she could say no and mean it. Her stubborn streak rearing it's ugly head. Those things are all in my memory somewhere, but I seem to have buried them pretty deep because now, as Vanessa is in the midst of her terrible twos and knocking on the door of her tyrannical threes I am finding myself surprised at the change in my baby.

Nessa has always been my sweetie. She is a snuggler of the highest order. She enjoys helping. She is compassionate. She is just wonderful. Most of the time..... Lately she has found her inner hellion and brings her out more every day. Now I ask her to help pick up and more often then not she says, "NO! Don't Want To" and crosses her arms over her chest and stomps off. She gets mad at me and throws fits that involve tears, screams, and flopping herself on the floor. She sets her mouth and will. not. budge when she doesn't want to. I can no longer put my smiling baby in the car seat, buckle her up, and go. Now she has to do everything. And she could care less how much of a hurry we are in. I do it! Go away! And five minutes later we are still sitting in the driveway, me pleading with her to just let me do it so we can go. Her, steadfast in her resolve to buckle the damn clasp herself.

I do love so much about this age, including the budding independence (most of the time). She is still my baby that will run to me if faced with any level of danger, fear, or joy. She is still a champion snuggler. She still takes my face in her hands and gives me a big sloppy kiss, grins, and tells me just how much she loves me. And then she runs off to climb up on a chair to reach the chocolate sauce on the top shelf of the fridge. Or to hide in the bathroom, putting massive amounts of a lipstick that wasn't hidden well enough all over her face. Or to rip up one of the paintings Natalie brought home from school (which of course is always her favorite). She is the epitome of normal when it comes to this age. And for that I'm grateful. Although I could do without the attitude. I'm going to get enough of that when they are all teenagers.