Not that she was actually terribly fussy today, but there seem to have been a few of them:
– she cannot wear more than two shoes at once. And Mommy won’t sit there and switch endlessly back and forth between her new pink shoes (we picked up a pair of waterproof sandals for splashing purposes) and her cuteness black shoes.
– Mommy won’t give her more butter on her bread after she’s eaten all the butter off.
– She can’t visit Mima and Essa and Boy. They’ll be back from their vacation Wednesday evening, but of course she doesn’t understand that. (Mima is what my mother chose to be called. Essa is what my sister chose to be called. My brother wanted her to call him Uncle, but in early July she walked into a room, pointed at him, and said “Boy!” and it’s all downhill from there. This isn’t as inexplicable as it may seem, since I tend to greet him the same way – as the only brother among five children, the nickname rather stuck.)
– Mommy keeps insisting that this number “8” exists. Clearly she does not understand that you are supposed to yell “nine!” as soon as anyone says “seven.”
– she cannot drink out of her open cup (which is a new thing we are experimenting with) by bending over, biting the rim, and lifting her head. The water ends up in her lap most of the time, but it works just often enough that she hasn’t given up hope. Maybe I need some heavier cups.
– and, saddest but the biggest milestone, she bumped her elbow on a chair because she was walking around with her nose in a book, thereby following in my family’s proud tradition of reading absolutely everywhere. My dad once broke his collarbone that way. I couldn’t help but laugh, and once she had calmed down I promptly called my parents and grandparents to let them know.