Life with an Only Child

Our days seem to run the gamut of possibilities. My daughter, currently an only child, is three years old and awash with cleverness and mischievousness. As I walked into her room to get her up for the day, she announced this was going to be an exhausting day for me by saying, "Mom, are we going somewhere today? Because I think I need to go somewhere today." This translated means, I had better come up with a lot of activities because she had slept well and was raring to go.

Breakfast was bolted down and seconds begged for. As I loaded my daughter's plate with another banana and some strawberry yogurt, I tried to look at this as a good thing. She was obviously growing and needed the nourishment. But the other side of my brain warned that this was only fuel for someone who could not only out run me, but out manipulate me. I was beginning to feel the need for a nap and it is only eight in the morning.

She calmly brought her dishes into the kitchen and announced the first activity. We needed to write letters. I should mention at this point that my daughter loves mail. She waits eagerly at the window for the mailman and as soon as it comes, asks, "Is it for me? Did I get a letter?" Most days she is disappointed. I tried to give her the junk mail but she has figured it out and automatically tosses it into the wastebasket. So I tried to encourage her by "writing" letters. You have to write 'em to get 'em, right?

So I was relieved when she asked to write letters. It is a nice calm activity that she can handle on her own. I spread out eight sheets of her favorite Audubon bird stationery and left the room. Not fifteen minutes later, she is in my office begging me to help her mail the letters. She has finished drawing bird's eggs, snails, a rollercoaster, a shoe, and several bugs on each page. (Yes, I did have to ask for clarification. She is still in the realm of the abstract.) She dictated to me what letter went to which relative. She insisted on sealing them herself and helping to put the stamp on each.

I am not allowed to write on her letters. Hopefully, my family will know who the letter is from. If not, she will call them and ask if they have received it.

Back in my office, I enjoy an hour of uninterrupted time to check email, write, deal with bills, et cetera. Then I realize it has been too quiet. If you have small children you know this is not a good sign. Well, per usual, my daughter's large collection of stuffed birds has migrated all over the house. There is a group sleeping in my bed, another group downstairs "watching" a blank TV screen, and the rest are in various stages of travel to the outer parts of the house. I am kicking myself for not checking on her sooner. Somehow the birds manage to get all over the house but can never seem to go back without my help.

My daughter, innocently exclaims, "I didn't do it! Bear let them out!" Bear, naturally, is the troublemaking favorite lovey that has a personality and voice of his own. He interjects, "No, I didn't! Bird let them out." And so the blame is passed around in the many voices of the stuffed animals. At this time, I wonder if my daughter has multiple personalities because I find myself addressing each animal. Mentally slapping myself in the head, I watch myself with detachment as I say, "Bear, that wasn't very nice of you. You must help clean up the toys now." Who says you need to have two or more children to enjoy the headache of fights?

I am transported to a time six months ago when I was walking with my daughter in the mall. She was holding her Bear and fighting with him. In her voice, "Bear stop hitting me! That isn't nice." And in Bear's voice, she would continue, "But you're hitting me!" Frustrated and tired of listening to them fight, I said, "Stop it, the both of you!" Needless to say, I had several strange looks.

Back to the present, I finally convinced Bear and Bird to help my daughter bring her toys back to her room. While she was moving the herd back, I had just enough time to clean my bathroom and start some more laundry. I am still amazed at how much extra laundry we go through now that we have a child. Particularly a child who lives for pajamas. Thankfully, she now consents to wearing clothes in public, but as soon as we return home, she peels off the offending outwear and puts on her favorite pajamas. Often she will ask me in the morning, "Are we going anywhere today?" If I say "no", she will announce, "then I'm keeping my jammies on." Two pairs of pajamas a day is a fair estimate of the amount she will go through.

It is lunchtime and I have just finished (for the third time) explaining to my daughter why her stuffed animals could not have their own plates of real food. But the table was set, per her daily chores, with five settings, not two. The stuffed birds are seated eagerly by their placemats and I find myself grinning. It is cute, how alive these birds are to her. I slice three extra pieces of cheese and then put a stop to her sharing her applesauce with them. Lunch is usually an interesting part of our day. It usually stretches on for an hour due to nap time afterwards. She is quite creative in her attempts to avert resting. We talk, she sings, asks if I would like to see her new dance steps, and generally eats at the pace of a snail.

At last, she is in bed for a "rest" time. Whether she actually rests or not varies with the days. Sometimes she falls asleep right away. Most days, I hear little feet padding around upstairs. "Mom, I have to go potty!" "Fine. Go ahead." "Mommy, I went! Aren't you proud of me?" "Yes, dear, very proud. Now wash your hands and go back to bed." "Okay!" Twenty minutes later, the same conversation. And ten minutes after that... The record is seven bathroom breaks in one nap time.

By two o'clock, I have enough of the "resting" and allow her to get up. She is sunshine and smiles and is dying for one-on-one time with me. We read books. We put together puzzles. We run around outside. We notice birds at the bird feeder and have to go inside for the "'noculars" (binoculars.) I am ready for another nap. All the while, my little girl keeps up a constant stream of chatter. "But why?" is her favorite phrase, heaven help me.

Late afternoon is when the UPS man stops by if there are any packages. My daughter knows this kind gentleman due to my famous internet Christmas shopping. (Ninety percent of it was done online last year and schlepped to my door by our longsuffering UPS man.) If he happens to stop by, she throws open the door and greets him. She takes the packages from him (if possible) and then always rewards him with a "thank you very much! Have a good day!" He smiles and salutes her. I think they make each other's day.

Did I mention my girl is learning her ABC's? With help from her birds, of course. She is crazy about birds. While most little girls love dolls and bears, my kid loves birds. She treats them like babies, rocking them and feeding them bottles. She has loved them ever since she was tiny. She collects the Audubon stuffed birds that look and sound just like the real ones. "Mom, what letter does Eastern Bluebird start with? Does cassowary start with 'c'? Robin starts with 'r', right?"

It is time to start cooking dinner. My little helper puts on her apron (just like Mommy's!) and wants to stir something. A prep of twenty minutes for a meal suddenly turns into an hour. "Can I mix it, Mom?" "I want to measure it!" "Ooops, I dropped it. I'm sorry. Accidents happen!" Did I mention I hate cooking? But I do love this time with her. She loves to "cook" so meal making has become more enjoyable, even if longer.

She is on the phone now, chatting away to her Daddy. She knows how to hit redial (Daddy's number is usually the last one stored) and wants to know when he is coming home. She made him a "special" dinner and would he come home and eat it with her? Then she is scurrying off to set the table. This time just three place settings complete with forks of various sizes, knives for Mommy and Daddy, and napkins carefully (yet haphazardly) folded. I watch her and wonder what happened to my tiny, premature baby. Her red ponytail bounces as she works quickly. She wants to help bring plates to the table. We have only had a half a dozen spills, so I figure we will be safe this time. Wrong, but quickly cleaned up.

"DADDY!! DADDY'S HOME!" I swear that child has the acute hearing of a dog. Even before his key hits the lock, she is throwing back the bolt and hugging him like he has been gone for a year. And she is waiting for his approval on her dinner preparations. Daddy is suitably impressed and exclaims over everything. She glows.

After dinner, the fun really begins. Bathtime is an hour long activity. Warm water has to go completely cold before she will consent to get out. Why? The rubber ducks of course. They have missed their little mistress and want to play with her. Any water splashed outside of the tub is the fault of their joyful play, not hers. She sings a lot of water-related songs too. I have chuckle as she transposes words with other melodies.

Finally, she is dried, pajama-ed, and ready for bed. I tell her it is a one-book night. I am far too tired to read more than that. An impish grin comes to her face. She is not going to argue with me and negotiate for more books because she has another plan of attack. She brings me a Dr. Seuss anthology. I explain that I will read one of the six stories but no more. She accepts that and immediately chooses the longest one. She is not a dumb child.

Negotiations start in earnest for the song time of our nighttime ritual. Five songs gets whittled down to 4. (I admit it, I am not a good negotiator.) We sing every verse of the very long songs she chooses. Note to self...quit teaching her new material!

Now it is time to pray. She has the perfect stall tactic here. Each animal on her bed has to be positioned in a penitent posture. Wings are "folded" and heads are bowed. Finally, she folds her own hands and bows her head.

Hugs and kisses and promises to check on her later and we are finally finished with the day. Or are we? Twenty minutes later... "Mommy! Chickadee escaped!" Translation: the chickadee "fell" over the side of the baby gate where she could not reach it. Threats begin in earnest now. No more foolishness and go to bed. Thankfully tonight, she smiles sweetly and wishes me a goodnight, love and sleep well.

I kick back in my unmade bed and reason that I did not have time to make it today because my child does require a lot of attention. But it is only natural. I am her playmate until she has a sibling. If that does not happen, then I look forward to more exhausting- but utterly irreplaceable- days with her. I am done in but I am completely content.