Written proof

You know how you have a really good day with your kid, and it's fantastic but in the back of your mind you keep thinking, "This is great and all, but I'll be paying for it tomorrow when she morphs into Mr. Hyde..."?

We're going on weeks of this now. Just the good part. The paranoid side of me is getting increasingly nervous. I haven't posted anything about it for fear it would spark a tantrum or mouthiness, but I'm throwing caution to the wind and coming out and saying it: Mabes has been an absolute delight lately.

I wish I could pinpoint what has caused the change--I can't. She's just been very helpful, sweet, understanding, and loving lately. She's had moments of difficulty, but they're fleeting moments, and she's certainly had bouts of silly. But no big fits, and I can't remember her last time out (!). She's been very good about saying "please" and "thank you," even if I laugh when she says "fank you for such a delicious breakfiss, mom!" Uh, you're welcome, kid. I worked really hard on that bowl of Rice Krispies.

Between her sweet behavior and the hilarious things she says, I find myself wanting to squeeze her. All.the.time. I've even slipped into Laura/Becca-like thoughts after she goes to bed--"Awww, let's wake her up!" And I almost did the other night when I could feel the baby kicking from the outside. I took her to the doctor with me this morning, as she had promised she would listen and not be silly. As we were getting in the car, she said that someday, the doctor will put a special computer on my belly "so we can see da 'flection of da baby." Uhhhh... "It's okay, mommy, I saw it on your doctor show." Seriously, I've stopped watching those. But I am amused that my 3-year-old is teaching me about ultrasounds.

She was an angel in the waiting room. She stood patiently by me as the receptionist made copies of my new insurance card, but when a quite pregnant woman walked in, Mabes turned to me and loudly said, "See, mommy, your belly has to be dat big before da baby can come out." I thought it was a funny observation, but knowing that pregnant women don't like be called big, I started to apologize to the woman. She just laughed and said, "No, don't apologize--that's awesome!" She proceeded to talk to Mabes about her new role as big-sister-to-be, and Mabes loved the attention. She was great for the whole appointment, was very interested as the nurse took my blood pressure ("like I do at home!"), got to hear the baby's heartbeat, got to chat it up with my doctor and tell him she'd like a brother, please, and even flipped through books patiently as I went through my list of questions. We celebrated with Target popcorn after.

And even when she is being silly, it's actually pretty funny. I have to turn my head so she can't see me laugh as she tries to shake her booty (I say "try," because she's actually shaking everything but her booty) instead of get herself dressed. And while her sleep can always improve, it's been pretty good lately. On Saturday morning, she just played quietly in her room after she woke up, letting us sleep in until 8:30.

My mom has said that the odd-numbered years are the hardest. She loves 2 and 4; she always thought 1 and 3 were much worse than the "terrible" twos. And I'm hopefully wondering if Mabes' current behavior is a sign of things to come with her turning 4. I'm dreading that it's not. But most of all, I'm telling myself to just stop analyzing it and enjoy her blissfully sweet side for as long as it lasts. And I'm writing it down so that when it's not all sunshine and lollipops, I can look back and say "See that? There ARE good days!"