Two weeks ago she kept asking people if they wanted to do X, with ME?? which was hilarious.
She approached a little boy at a playground. “Would you like to go to JP Licks for ice cream, with ME?” Let’s count this as the first time she asked someone out for a date. Since I wasn’t actually planning on going to JP Licks, much less having ice cream there, and I’m pretty sure the other little kid’s mama wasn’t going anywhere, needless to say her offer — however appealing — wasn’t accepted.
But she did this with everything.
“Do you want to have tea, with ME?”
“Do you want to read a book, with ME?”
So cute.
Lately she’s been asserting, “This is my privacy,” and telling us to leave the room. Not just for what we might expect would be private moments, like going to the potty, but plainly when she’s irritated by us and just wants us to leave.
She can also be pretty bossy.
“Mama, move! MOVE!!.”
“Sepia, get out!”
“Stop fighting, cats!”
“Get that for me, Mama.”
I should add that even though she can be very bossy, she can also be very very very polite.
“Would you like some, Mama?” offers a bite of pretend or real food. “Would you like some, Mama?” offers another bite of pretend or real food. Repeat, ad infinitum.
“Thank you, Mama.” after being given a bite of food. Repeat, many many times despite explanations of why it is not necessary ….
Mama: “Would you like some of this, Ada?” Ada: “No, please.”
Regardless, it’s absolutely charming to give her a toy or food or something she has asked for, and have her say in her piping clear voice, “Thank you, Mama!”
The other day she was shoving a little wrapper down her pants. “We need to get this kid some pockets,” we said.
“This is my period,” she told us.
Sunday night (5/30) she approached me with a small wooden toy and began rubbing it against my foot. “I’m giving you a massage,” she told me. “On your toes. And your feet.”
“Oh, that’s very nice, Ada — I love it.”
Then she brandished a toy screwdriver at me. “Would you like a haircut?”
“Sure,” I said warily, since she was now pushing the screwdriver against my chest. “But on my hair — not my chest.”
“Not your skin,” she agreed. “Your nose?”
Over the last week we both noticed that suddenly she’s asking us a lot more questions and a different type.
“Where are we?” (parked in an unfamiliar location)
“Where are we going?” (getting into the stroller)
“What is in my mouth?” (a bite of mixed food items, I think cauliflower and macaroni)
“What are you doing?”
“Where are you going?”
“What you gettin’ for me, Mama? What you makin’ for me?”
I think it’s the beginning of a new era.