Now that N is potty trained and capable of speaking in complete sentences, it is a new level of care that is required, one that is more fun and more interesting. We can be out and about without a diaper bag. We can spend literally HOURS "riding bikes" up and down the driveway (glad I had it redone). She is a bundle of energy that keeps me moving.
|Lots of room to run at the playground.|
Our conversations and her leaps of logic keep me entertained. For example, "Grandpa D* is old because he lives far away." Um, yes, he's old but it has nothing to do with how far away he lives. "You're old." Yes, but not as old as Grandpa D. Looking at the photos on my fireplace mantel, she had nothing to say when I explained that my grandfather had a hook for a hand, just like Captain Hook, but later she related the whole story to her mom. A little sponge, that one.
|This is NOT Grandpa D.|
N is also past the need for naps, for the most part, but neither of us got a full night's sleep. Knowing she would not want to nap, I told her she just had to stay on the bed while Grandma rested, then I played a relaxation YouTube video on my phone. The results were predictable.
|Don't say the N word.|
She now has a tricycle to keep at my house. I dragged my bike out, so we could ride together, and even went up and down the block. It was slow going, so I sat on my bike while pushing with my left leg. The next day, that leg was useless. The hellishness of getting old is revealed by the young.
*Grandpa D is my ex.