Last week Mommy gave you some updates on our family. Yes, my four-and-a-half-year old brother Jacob is still obsessed with “Frozen”. Yes, he may never make it to kindergarten. (Seriously, Mommy, just register him already.) Yes, we FINALLY sold the house. Blah, blah, blah. You might have noticed something missing from these updates.
No? It’s not jumping out at you?
What about ME?!?
It’s like watching a “Charlie Brown” special without Snoopy. Or an episode of “Will & Grace” without Jack. Or “The Golden Girls” without Sophia. WHAT’S. THE. POINT?
Don’t worry, America. I’m here to put you out of your misery. You want to know what has been going on with your favorite part of the fumbling family? (I’m assuming.) Sit back. Grab a cold one. (Preferably “whole”. But 2% will do in a pinch.) And get comfortable. Here it is: the State of the Emma Address.
First, I know you’re probably just dying to know if I’ve made good on my New Years resolution to grow hair. Well, people, the wait is over. It’s FINALLY growing. Yes, you can use those cue ball jokes on someone else now. Cuz THIS GIRL is growing hair. I’m telling you, it’s becoming downright unmanageable. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what Mommy means when she says it’s hard to get a comb through it. Anyhoo, the jury is still out but I *think* I’m a brunette. Or maybe a red head. I can’t totally rule out blonde. Whatever. Are these labels so important? Point is, I am: NO. LONGER. BALD.
Hopefully this means that people will also stop remarking on my ginormous size. Apparently when grown up humans see a bald-headed toddler walking toward them they just assume it is an overfed six-month-old who happens to be a very, very early walker. And then they feel obliged to say something like, “She’s. So. BIG.” Really? REALLY? And you wouldn’t find that a TAD rude if I said that to YOU, lady-stuffing-your-face-with-potato-chips? Mm hmm. I thought so. And anyway, if you do think I’m just a very precocious six-month-old (simply because my follicles are late bloomers) why not say something complimentary like, “Look at how well that infant is walking! I’m going to go call the WNBA and get her into their tots program.” I mean seriously. At least make yourself useful.
Potty training. Where do I start? Occasionally I will hear someone ask Mommy when she intends to potty train me. Then Mommy rolls her eyes. And says something noncommittal like, “I don’t know. Maybe in a year?” A YEAR?!? Seriously, Mommy? (Must I live like an animal for THAT long?) Clearly I need to take matters into my own hands. (Not literally.) So, a few weeks ago, I started telling Mommy when I needed to go to the bathroom.
Me (gesturing wildly for Mommy’s attention): Pooooop.
Mommy: Do you need to poop, Emma?
Me (calmly): Yes.
Mommy (checks my diaper): Emma, you already pooped.
Look, I’m one-and-a-half. My sense of time may be a bit creative. Work with me.
Anyway, even though I was CLEARLY INDICATING TO MY STAFF when I needed to be brought to the potty, I got nowhere. So, I decided to be even more concrete. (These people are not rocket scientists.)
Me (gesturing wildly): Mommy, POTTY.
Mommy: Emma, do you need to use the potty?
Me (calmly): Yes.
So, Mommy FINALLY brought me to the potty. She put a little insert in it. And perched me on top. I was on a throne. FINALLY, I COULD SURVEY MY LANDS. But just as I was about to address my loyal subjects . . .
Mommy: Emma, your diaper is soaked. I don’t think you need to use the potty. I think you already went.
WHY IS EVERYONE SO CRITICAL?!?
Language. I’m not ashamed to say it. I’ve picked up a few new words. Like “yogurt”. And “avocado” (pronounced “cado”). And “dessert”. And “more”. Personally, I think if I knew these four words in every language, I would be fully prepared to travel the world. You don’t need a big vocabulary to get by. Cuz you wanna know what the real lingua franca is? Temper tantrums. I don’t care who speaks what. When you stomp your feet and ball up your little fists and make the frowny face: PEOPLE. GET. YOU. (And stuff starts to happen.) Thank goodness too. Because as you may recall, my Mommy speaks to me in English but my Daddy speaks to me in Japanese. AND, I have heard a nasty rumor that at my new daycare (starting this summer) the teachers will speak in Spanish. AWESOME. No seriously, Mommy and Daddy, it’s not making it harder for me to develop verbal skills. Keep changing it up. I’m LOVING the TOTAL INCONSISTENCY. It keeps things FRESH and INTERESTING. Totally unrelated: have I mentioned that your future nursing home will be staffed by people who only speak Armenian? Enjoy.
Or should I say, “Vayelel!”
Well, that’s all for now peeps. Keep it real. Peace out.