life: almost three years old growing up romalise
by Mommy Hobbies
In my napsack stash
My youngest, who, to my surprise will be three this November and didn’t even ask if she could grow up this quickly, is showing me the ropes on all things girly. Growing up, I was a tomboy. Major. There wasn’t a tree I couldn’t climb, a boy I couldn’t out run or a fort I couldn’t make. I loved roughing around. My poor mother didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing me in frilly dresses and fussing with my hair to make it “just so”. Well, she fussed with my hair, but that was because I was born with the fuzziest hair known to man. It had NOTHING to do with primping and everything to do with making sure her child didn’t look like an ape.
But Roma, my, my, my she is the complete opposite, so far. She loves to dress up in her “cute” and prance around, flip her hair and pose in the mirror. She doesn’t like to be spied on while gazing at her herself in the mirror. If you catch her, she will stop abruptly and smile as if nothing happened.
I love her girly antics. They are painfully cute. Nothing is more adorable than a two year old in her saggy little unders walking around with her shoes on backward and fussing with her hair. Sometimes, she snags my spray bottle and will squeeze water into her hair — in one spot, and then brush and brush and, yes, makes a huge knot.
Lately, she’s been punctuating her sentences by putting her hands on her hips. She yells at her brother, with her hands on her hips. She tells me “no”, with her hands on her hips. She talks to her baby dolls, with her hands on her hips. She talks in the mirror, with her hands on her hips. It’s hard to put the cutest kid in-the-world on timeout. Try it. PshhAh.
But frilly skirts and cute hair aside she can roll with the best of them. The other night after church, Cylas grabbed her in a bear hug and rolled across the floor — his back, her belly, his back, her belly. She was screaming and laughing…and being steamrolled all at the same time. She’ll run after Cylas, take his toys and bolt, she’ll scream in his ear, push him out of her way, wreck his blocks and giggle. She may be small, but she’s letting big brother know there are certain things he can not do without getting the “what for”. They speak the same language. Sometimes, I just sit back and watch them work their problem out. It’s funny.
Summary of other details:
She is speaking quite well. Has a lot of Russian words. Two and three word sentences.
Her English is good, too. Two and three word sentences.
She is very independent and
can be IS demanding.
She has her own timing and won’t be pushed to go faster, slower or coerced to do something she doesn’t want to do.
She’s terribly, terribly afraid of thunder.
She loves salad. A lot. Like she will steal it from your plate — a lot.
She’s learned to whisper in someone’s ear. It’s very sweet.
She loves going on runs with me.
She likes to pick up after herself and listens when asked to do so. (sometimes, she even puts her dish in the sink)
She has no qualms about calling you out if you “let one” on the sly.
Oh, and she mysteriously develops a *”cough”* when she is in trouble. There is no remedy other than, “Oh, poor baby… *kisses*
This is Roma at two and three quarters. *sigh* Time, thou has betrayed me.