My Little Smarty Girl

Two months have gone by? What?? Ok, I’ll admit it. I’m a procrastinator.

Really, it’s a disease I’ll always have to fight with, tomorrow.

At Six Flags Fright Nights (Ava did not like it)

Looking her gosh darn cutest!

Anyway, updates: Ava’s next two bottom teeth are coming in. That will make a grand total of 6 teeth and she’s 16 months old. She’ll be 17 months at the end of October. And mommy will be 27. I feel old. Yesterday she had a 1 year screening by the Parents As Teachers program. She’s still pretty nervous around her parent educator but she performed well. Mary Beth tested her on fine and gross motor skills, language, and social skills. She far succeeded her age group in everything! In her social skills and gross motor (throwing a ball overhand) she tested in the 18 to 24 months range. In fine motor she was within her age group but on the far end of it. And surprisingly, in language, she tasted at around a two year old!!! Mary Beth chalked it up to doing sign language with her, reading to her all the time, talking to her. It really makes me feel good to know that all my hard work will pay off. And Ava has always been a really smart baby. I guess that extra week and a half of development in my tummy and all the brain-boosting breast milk helped too. I just love my smarty pants.

Our little GQ and his ladies

Every day her personality shines through more and more. She’s got a funny bone like no other kid I’ve ever known. I read that second children are usually the funny ones, or the last child because they have to crack everyone up to get attention. Maybe Ava is like that because she has her cousins around all the time so she gets all kinds of attention from them when she cracks up like a little hyena every time they giggle. Her laugh is certainly contagious. She’s a stickler for routine too. She likes to have a yogurt cup every morning for breakfast while watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She has to have her bedtime routine the same way every night. And she still tells me, when it’s 7:00, it’s bedtime. Right now, Mike walked outside and she's yelling for him to come back. Not only does our house ring with my voice yelling, "Miiiike?!" Now, we hear Ava yelling, "Miiiiiiii!" I've tried to start yelling for Daddy, but she prefers to call him Mike... Oh well!


My doll face!


A few nights ago we were going through our routine, same as ever. Mike washes Ava. They play in the tub for a little bit while I get her jammies, diaper, lotion, and book all laid out. Well, I was procrastinating, of course I do it at the last minute, and suddenly I heard Mike scream. (Literally, it was a scream I never thought my manly husband could make.) I ignored it… guilty. Next he said, in a very panicky voice, “Veronica, get in here QUICK!” So I walked to the bathroom and said, “What the heck?” To which he, freaking out, yelled, “Hurry! Ava pooped in the tub!” As I started to laugh… him, “It’s not funny! Help me!”… me, “Ew, its HUGE! How could that come out of her?” The whole time, Ava was trying desperately to climb out of the tub because her daddy screamed at the poop and she had no idea where it came from. For all she knew it was dangerous stuff. We wiped off her tushy as much as possible and Mike handed her to me (she still smelled like poo). I was telling Mike, “Hurry up she stinks!” as he walked out to the kitchen. I said, “What are you doing? Hurry up! She’s scared and wants to snuggle and I CAN’T!” To which Mike yelled, “I need some gloves!” Well, sadly, for him, we used to have a box of gloves under the sink but I would use them all the time so I didn’t have to touch meat. They’ve been used up for a while now, needless to say I don’t cook as often as I did with them. I told him the gloves were gone and he huffed and puffed and then grabbed, of all things, a plastic grocery bag! Of course, when a plastic bag gets wet it sticks together but I didn’t want to deter him from getting the tub cleaned out quickly so I just let him go for it. Finally he got the poo out and I set Ava on the sink in the bathroom. I told him to hold on to her while I cleaned the tub. (Which he didn’t think we needed to do… ugh, men.) Then I cleaned it with SoftScrub, best stuff ever. Ava REALLY didn’t want to get back in the tub, she thought she was done. Mike washed her all over again and finally the crisis was behind us. The whole thing was so funny, looking back, that I had to share. I think every kid poops in the tub at least once in their first few years. This makes twice for my kid. Oy.