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| Ella on counter, reading (August, 2012) |
That Ella hasn't gotten as much "play" in my blog posts as Cal has to date is not reflective of her impact to the day-to-day lives of the Leatherman family. She’s just as entertaining, funny, stress-triggering, puzzling and delightful as Cal is, only in different ways… and ones hard to replay in words. So I thought I’d give it a shot.
Here’s how a kitchen conversation with Ella might go (with some creative liberties applied to ordering and recollection of the complete "non-words"):
Ella <unsolicited, in my arms and on my hip>: “Si dow… si dow… si dow.”
Me: “What, Baby Girl?”
Ella: “Si dow. Si dow. <pointing> heah.”
Me: “Ah ha! You want to sit down on the counter?”
Ella: “Nyeah.” It always sounds like she’s got a leading ‘N’ on her ‘yeahs.’
Me <setting her down on the counter>:”Okay, let’s not tell Dr. Persak we do this.”
Ella <nods>: “Soch… soch.”
Me <I know this one>: “Yes, that’s your sock. Can you say ‘shoe?’”
Ella: “Soo.”
Me: “That’s right, Baby Girl. Shoe. Can you say ‘Ella?’”
Ella <pointing at herself>: “Mommee.”
Me: “No… <pointing at myself>… I’m Mommy.”
Ella: “Mommee.”
Me: “Can you say ‘Ella?’”
Ella: “Da-dee.”
Me: “Yeah… <pointing to Dan>… that’s ‘Daddy.’ Can you say ‘Ella?’”
Ella: “Caow… Caow.”
Me: “Yep… <pointing to Cal>… is that your big brother, Cal?”
Ella <probably thinking, ‘what’s a brother?’>: “Caow… Caow.”
Me: “Can you say, ‘Ella?’”
Ella: “Ya-Ya!”
Me: “YA-YA!” This bugs Dan because he thinks we should say it the right way so she hears it the right way and learns to say it the right way. I can’t help myself.
Ella grins ear to ear.
Me: “Can I set you on the ground, Baby Girl?”
Ella: “Nyo.”
Me <I don’t dare set her on the ground with that response>: “Mommy’s got to fix dinner. Do you want some grapes?”
Ella <nodding>: “Nyeah. Gape… gape… gape.”
So then I cut some grapes up for her and let her grab them as she pleases, still sitting on the counter, monitored but certainly not not at risk of falling off. She sits pretty still and content; and as long as “Caow” doesn’t come along and yank on her legs (it happened once), I’m fairly confident (is that an oxymoron?) she won’t fall off. After a long day at work and not more than an hour and a half to do dinner, cleanup, baths, jammies, reading and tucking in, my brain can’t handle the alternative, which almost always consists of Ella crying, "Mommy!" and wrapping her arms around my legs as I navigate the kitchen.
When dinner is almost ready, I move Ella and the remaining grapes to her place at the dinner table. Eventually, we all make it there, and his is how the conversation with Ella might continue:
Ella: “Pate… pate… pate.”
Me: “What, Baby Girl?”
Ella <holding up her plate full of food now, ever so slowly tipping more and more one direction> “Pate… pate.”
Me: “Oh, plate! <grabbing the plate>… that’s right, Baby Girl!”
Not sure what she wants, I set the plate back down in front of her and take a seat. Ella, now frustrated and crying a bit, pushes her plate toward me and starts wriggling in her booster, grabbing the straps as she does so.
Ella: “De de de de.”
Me: “De de? I’m not sure what you mean.”
Ella <crying>: “De de. De de DE DE DE.” She points at her plate now near me.
Me: “Do you want to sit in my lap and eat?”
Ella <relieved>: “Nyeah.”
Sometimes I oblige the request, and other times I don’t. As much as Ella likes to sit in my lap, one would think she’d be pretty good at it. She’s not. She’s a wriggler, adjuster and up-and-downer. She’s also a very unskilled utensil user. Whether I let her sit in my lap to eat is usually driven by three things: my level of tolerance for food in my lap and smudged on my arms, how far along I am with my dinner and how strongly I feel that day that sitting in her seat for dinner is the best thing for Ella. My conversations with Ella are generally hard work but entertaining and oftentimes include actions that are not necessarily in the best interest of Ella but that keep her content.
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