J just turned five years old. FIVE. I consider this to be a milestone birthday, and it may be as much a milestone for me as it is for her. After all, this means I have successfully gotten her to school age without letting her die for one reason or another (a sentiment that made my mother-in-law look at me with politely concealed horror the other night). But you see what I am saying. I haven't colossally messed up with her up to this point.
As I sift through the memories of the previous year, I am struck with the relative subtlety of her development. Gone are the great leaps, like the ability to walk, or becoming potty trained. Four was a series of little accomplishments, paving a way for future independence.
Step stools and pull-ups were abandoned. Confidence was fostered through limit-testing, like swim lessons and new types of social interactions. Assistance with teeth-brushing and getting dressed is now disdained.
Mere mastery of language gave way to love of form and function, actual reading, and a recent interest in free-associating, song-writing, and poetry. Before breakfast is consumed, words on the cereal box, my computer, my magazines are identified, picked apart, analyzed.
Loathing for efforts related to writing morphed into a passion for creative expression. Everything seen, felt, experienced is documented with every tool a craft store can offer and then some. Signs are posted with letters backwards and words in no particular order, but with great feeling. Notes are written and sealed in envelopes. Puppets are made with all manner of household supplies. Collages of every description are crafted with cut scraps, stickers and glue. Bathroom supplies are stacked into sculptures in the moments it takes me to turn around to get her bath ready. After the relative mania of three, the focus of four has astonished me.
Four was also the year J changed from wanting to be with K all the time to wanting to be like K all the time. The confident glow is never brighter or stronger than when K shares and ear-bud so J can sing along with the latest pop hit, or when J has an outfit on that reminds her of her sister’s style. Along with this (I’m sure, common) desire to be BIG, J threw herself into the world of Girlie-Girls, loving make-up and jewelry, dresses and nail polish. Pretend games played while I slog on the treadmill often involve handbags and pretend cell phones. God help me.
Side note: I became aware that her knowledge popular culture can make her feel either isolated or comfortable in her peer group, and I have grappled with handling the doses appropriately. This issue came up much sooner than I thought possible.
A fondness for rhythm and analytical challenges first allowed J to conquer counting to 100 - by ones, then tens, then fives - as well as recognizing numbers up to 1000. After that, learning to tell time was relatively easy. Now I don't have to get up from the sofa when I want to know what time it is. Maybe next I'll teach her to open bottles of wine. Or not, as the case may be.
Her scientific mind continues to seek out new information. No longer satisfied with bath toys and mud pies, she wants to know bigger things. Is that Jupiter, so bright in the sky tonight? How does that bridge stay up? What happens if you die and I’m still a kid? (Yeah, that shocked me too.) I truly can barely keep up with her thirst for knowledge in every sense of the word.
The best things, however, have remained unchanged. The joie de vivre: Rolling in the sand. Running instead of walking. Biking instead of running. Playing wildly after dinner, wearing as few clothes as possible. Sadie is still her best friend. She still loves to snuggle profusely after bath time, and while reading/being read to. She still has marshmallow cheeks. She still wants Mommy to lay next to her and kiss her all night. And she still gives me a smile first thing in the morning, sometimes accompanied by a gentle, tiny hand stroking the side of my face.
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