I did it.

I ate everything I wanted. I declined nothing. I munched on The Lucas' Stilton cheese and Christmas cookies. I devoured the Hatsop's Smoked Turkey. I lingered in Sarah Jones' orange rum cake and her sugar dusted cookies. I slurped up pumpkin soup, prime rib, mashed potatoes, squash puree, green beans, salted nuts, Nanny's almond toffee, fruit, smoked salmon, North Haven oysters on the half-shell, a standing rib roast, sliced ham, boursin, frittata, my sister's egg nog and many, many glasses of wine. 

Do I feel the slightest twinge of guilt or remorse at my gluttony? Not a bit.

And hey, it's still the holidays, technically. It's the week after Christmas and during New Year's so we're allowed to keep up the momentum of indulgence throughout the week. We don't have to start The New Regime until next week. It's a good thing too, because for New Year's Eve we are having a catered dinner at our house. At my insistance we ordered Wahoo fish (although we only have 4 people there is an 8 serving minimum). Fish is perfect I argued because few people can cook it well at home. Besides, it's less fattening. So we ordered the Wahoo and crab cakes for appetizers. Once the order was placed (and firm) we learned our guests do not eat fish. Frantic calls to the caterers resulted in an additional order of pork tenderloin, serving 8 again, for just four people. So now we have dinner for 16.

Which means that on New Year's Day, normally the day of some restraint if not repentance, my husband and I can indulge in yet another enormous holiday meal. Just to kick off the New Year with a slug of my ham-hock calves.

I was wondering where all the moms and kids were. Strolling around the DC metropoitan area on a weekday mid-morning and all you see is a lone tumbleweed rolling across playgrounds, the eery whistle in your ear. An abandoned mitten on a fence.

Finally a friend clued me in. From 10am to 11:30 am most weekdays the mothers, nannies, babies and toddlers are all at Jammin' Java in McLean, taking in a show. Jammin Java is a coffee shop and also a live music venue. At night they feature well-known local bands. Each weekday they offer live music for kids. There are several decent solo acts, guitar-strummers, wacky artists and crooners. But the best day of the week at Jammin Java is Wednesdays. On that day you are in for a real treat.  "Rocknoceros" is three guys who played together in high school, reunited 20 years later to play rock songs for kids. And they do it very well.

Rocknoceros sounds a little like "They Might Be Giants", or if that means nothing to you then also a little like "The Beatles"... musical inspirations from right and left, near and far. They write their own lyrics and music, they play their own instruments. They sing in tune, and in impressively close harmony, taking turns in syncopation, chiming in on time and on key. Their songs are about rockets, hands, the metric system, brushing your teeth, going potty, writing a Dear Abby letter, and more things of interest to kids and parents alike. The lyrics are witty, the melodies catchy, and the rhythms are irresistible, making everyone dance, clap or just tap along. The Bees currently loves "These Hands" because she can clap, snap and wave along with the words. Another favorite is the tuba intro to "The Metric System". I love "Seven Days a Week", and find myself "Woo Hoo!!"-ing out the car window.

Whatever they're playing, this is a band that is not painful to the ears or the eyes. The music is good, and, well, if you enjoy watching a farmer guitarist in overalls, a drummer/keyboardist in a fetching fedora, and a lead singer sporting nice legs in his soccer shorts, then you won't mind the view. It's worth the trek to Vienna on Wednesdays just to take in a show. The rest of the week you can plug the cd in your car and sing as loud as you want. Go ahead - the only person watching is your kid, and she likes it.
 

Just a follow up note to tell you that after I wrote that last piece about Holiday snacks I then went into the kitchen and, without a second thought, devoured a man-sized bowl of corkscrew pasta. With meatballs, and olive oil. I had no remorse, until about 20 minutes later when it kicked in. Then (because you always have another stomach reserved for dessert) I ate one Skinny Cow and two Skinny Calves.

Why didn't I just zap the frozen Steamfresh veggies and eat the whole bag like I normally do? Because it's the holidays and it's cold out, and it feels so cozy to curl up with a bowl of carbs.

So, do as I say, not as I do.

Christmas is just a week away and I am already salivating. The thought of Sarah Jones' rum cake -- ahhh the sweet, melting richness of it -- keeps sliding into my head, not to mention her sugared cookies. And my sister's strong brandied egg nog. And the Stilton cheese they import. And my brother's Thistle Hill Tarentaise cheese. Mmmmmmm. It's a slippery slope my friends. Once you officially embark on the holiday noshing, where on earth do you draw the line? Only 5 cookies and two slices of cake. Or just seven cocktails and 4 helpings of Foie Gras on cracker. I've already drawn up my game plan: I'll focus on protein through the day, and strive to save the treats for after dinner. That will last about 1/2 a day.

How to avoid the temptation of the open tins on the counter, the passed bowls of glittering delights, the trays of sweet and plenty? Here are the top ten snacks for Mommies who would like to someday rediscover their figure.

1) Shrimp is our friend. Not the fried ones my friends, just the boiled red ones. A dab of cocktail sauce is fine.

2) Crudites- amazing how if you stuff enough celery, carrots and cucumber into your mouth with all that bovine crunching you sort of lose interest in eating.

3) Ginger- chew on a bit of ginger (don't be silly - not raw! Either the kind that comes with sushi or even a bit of candied kind) and you lose your taste for sweet. 

4) WATER! Don't forget - half the time when we think we're hungry we're really just thirsty! And I forget to drink water in the winter which is when your skin really needs it.

5) Hot chocolate made with water, not milk. Surprisingly low cal, and you still feel like a kid again.

6) Dark chocolate. not my idea as I am not a fan. I know this what all the skinny chicks eat, but if it's not creamy and chocolatey and sweet then I don't want it. 

7) Aspirin. I seem to need at least two a day, given that The Bees has started her Terrible Two's early. The tantrums march on, and so does the pounding in my head.

8) Raw almonds. Yawn, so boring I know, but they do help out mid-morning and mid-afternoon.

9) Apples. Roughage is a dire necessity at the holidays.

10)  Vodka. Gaze dreamily into the distance. Whether they didn't like your gift or you ran out of food or your kid won't stop crying or your husband has the flu, somehow a vodka cocktail takes the holiday cares away, and the sweet cravings right along with it. 

I was feeling terribly remiss. I'm afraid I simply did not do my homework this year. Here we were, the Holidays upon us, and I managed to neglect my duties as Mum. I understand I was supposed to take my daughter to at least three Christmas shows. I was supposed to have her picture taken with Santa, I was supposed to take her to see the Christmas trees on the mall, participate in a carol sing, see the Nutcracker, and this and that.

Last Sunday I remembered that there was an Nativity reenactment at a nearby church. My husband was loathe to go. It's Sunday night. He's traveled all week, worked hard at trying to get his customers to pay their bills. He'd like to hang out with The Bees by the tree (or preferably in front of a soccer match), sipping a glass of wine. And in his defense we are not affiliated with this church-- in fact, we are not religious in any way.

I strongly encouraged him to go. "it's just one night", I said. "One night out of the entire year to go and participate in a Christmas festivity. Besides, it's close by. And there are live animals! The Bees will love it!" Silence. "We'll bring a flask of rum and spike the cider". And that did it.

We arrived at the church and, sure enough, there was a manger and hay strewn about and there were the appropriate donkeys, goats, sheep, chickens in a cage and even a rabbit. Mary and Joseph arrived with their little bundle (a still infant figurine with an alarmingly full head of hair). Bees saw Joseph's beard and shouted "HANTA! HANTA!". "No it's not Santa" I laughed, it's Joseph". At that she buried her head in my shoulder - her first embarassment?

The angel began singing in a quaver but warmed up on her headset and became emboldened as they turned up the volume of the "boom chakka" machine.

It was very hip Christmas music. Bees sat in my lap, transfixed by the scene before us, the baby, the angel, the singers.

I kept pointing to the baby goats and sheep nuzzling straw next to us but she was unimpressed. The singing riveted her, and she swayed in my arms to the rythym. My husband passed me the contraband cup. As it turns out, it was hot chocolate they were serving, but the rum out of the flask accompanied it nicely, like a nice holiday run ball.

CB ended up huddled over by the outdoor hearth as The Bees and I watched the whole show. The players stopped singing and then there was this silence as they stared straight ahead. Something else was supposed to happen but I'm not sure what. It wasn't time to clap so we all just stood there. After about 7 minutes the boom chakka machine started again, and we all got up to get another cookie.

We ran into a few friends, so it turns out it was the socially acceptable place to be.

As we walked back to our car CB was complaining that it was cold and I hadn't told him it was outside and I said it was going to be a Carol Sing. But for three days now the Bees has been talking about the angel with wings, the kings, the "cook-cooks", and the baby Jesus. So I have fulfilled my motherly Christmas duty.

Christmas rolls around and everyone says it's the season for giving. Well I say, let's not forget about Mummy shall we?

Top Must-Haves for Mummy this Holiday:

1) A festive frock to wear. Whether it's due to corporate downsizing and layoffs (or simply because you choose not to be part of the DC Elite) you are only invited to one party and that's a reading of "Twas The Night Before" at the local Palisades Library, then you should put on your finest frock. Bonus if it fits again this year. 

2) Glitter. Every Mom should use glitter to draw attention to her eyes and away from her problem areas.  For just two weeks a year you can feel like a dancing queen out on your daily errands.

3) A flask to carry to your local Nativity reenactment. Hot cocoa or cider are always served and it's astonishing how much more enjoyable these things are with a little spike.

4) Extra large decorations in the house to obfuscate your image in the mirror so you don't catch sight of your enormous backside, a common result of the holiday festivities.

5) Iron will. That small voice emanating from a small body pointing to the pink dolly with her own bottle, nappy, spoons and diaper bag. "Please" (actually "peez") is a word I was celebrating until I learned how it successfully negotiates all kinds of unnecessary objects into our house.

HAPPY HAPPY! HO HO HO!

Ahhh. Now I understand. You see, visions of sugarplums were clouding my head. Well maybe not sugarplums, but sugar cookies certainly. I thought it would be fun to make Christmas cookies with The Bees. I got out the ingredients (risk #1), set up a step stool (risk#2), offered her the cat apron (risk #3). 

I should have foreseen disaster when she declined the apron. After all, it was already such fun. We had the Christmas music blasting, I got out the bowls, the cutting board, the rolling pin, the measuring cup, the wooden spoon and the beater. The Bees climbed up the step stool and bounced up and down grabbing at various utensils and asking for water (to make her imaginary soup).

I poured in the dry ingredients, showed her how to crack the egg - she was most interested in watching the yoke fall out.  The Bees stirred it all with her wooden spoon. I took it up a notch with the electric beaters. Her eyes were wide. She couldn't wait to dig a paw into the mix and taste it. She reached for the beaters and then it was all over her dress. And her face, and, I noted, decorating her hair. I mopped off her front and offered her the spoon to lick. Then I got the cookie cutters and offered her the star shape with a small ball of dough to play with. She cut out one star shaped cookie and then tossed the raw dough into her mouth. My attempts to dig the star cookie out of her mouth were met with an insistant clamp of the teeth. It was gone, down the hatch. "Numm Numm".

Then she fell off the step stool. 

We baked the cookies for 7 minutes. When they were cool I took out the sprinkles. Red, green and multicolored. I have now learned that sprinkles are NOT for toddlers. I gave her one that shakes out of the holes and it took less than two seconds for her to shake colored sprinkles all over the floor. The dog was ecstatic.

I handed her the red jar to decorate a bear, and before I knew it she popped off the top and emptied the entire pile of red sprinkles onto the counter. Then she leaned way over and stuck her mouth in the pile. She emerged looking quite edible herself. 

I sighed, realizing we had only decorated three cookies so far, and made a managerial decision. I scrubbed her off, brushed off the counter, got down on the floor with wet paper towels, and then set out about a teaspoon of decorations to my right side. I propped the Bees back up on the stool and said "watch mommy decorate". I did the job and then left the last part- the eyes- for her. I handed her two cinnamon balls for eyes. She pushed them into the cookie and then plucked them out and into her mouth. Cinnamon balls are NOT for toddlers. Her eyes grew wide, her mouth opened and a long strand of drool dripped down her front. "Hot Hot!" she pleaded.

We completed 8 cookies and I wrapped up the rest of the dough for another day.

The next day we delivered two small samples to the neighbors on bumble bee plates, and I feel quite accomplished.

Christmas is upon us. Loathe to be one of those smug parents, I have to admit that this holiday, like Halloween and Easter is so much more fun with a child. No longer just about gift giving or mouth stuffing, it is once again a magical experience. Or it can be.

In the last week I have taken The Bees on a tour of Christmas. We have seen lights, wreaths, angels, poinsettia, train sets, window dressings and lots of decorated Christmas trees. And of course we've seen Santa. After reading books and seeing parts of "Rudolph" Bees recognizes Santa now. She shrieks as we pull up to the local post office, pointing to a small faded red figure propped in the dusty window of the post office.

Last year I took The Bees to the mall, to do a bit of shopping and show her the lights and decorations. We approached the "corral" where Santa sits awaiting photo victims. There he was, standing with one leg splayed out, hand on his hip, chatting away on his cell phone. I whisked the Bees away in disgust. This year we were back at the same mall (Westfield Montgomery Mall), came round the corner to the same corral, and there was Santa again. This time he was sitting on his red sofa, awaiting his next lap guest. It was clearly the same well-worn suit from last year, he was staring off into the fluorescent distance, but worst of all, he was chomping on gum. 

"Look there's Santa" I said with less than genuine enthusiasm. Bees stared for a minute and then tipped her little hand to him. At least the guy waved back, but there was no way she was going to sit on his lap. And I must say, as much as her grandmother might appreciate the photo opp, I was relieved.

She saw him in the mall, waving and beckoning her over. She shook her head vigorously, but could not avert her stare. Who is that man and what is he doing on the chair?

How much is birth order responsible for personality? I wonder this, as a middle child myself. The Bees will be an only child so this puts her first and ever foremost in her own family, which is not necessarily a good thing.

Her cousins however are, or will be, one of several. When Bees spends time with her cousins she gets to choose whether to play with the younger ones or the older ones, or both.

In North Carolina for Thanksgiving her cousin of just 4-1/2 months was there. Baby BG was just as sweet as can be, never crying, never fussing, just sucking on her hands and looking around the room from under long brown lashes. Bees was not much interested in "BeeBee" as she calls her cousin. She checked her out, audibly noted her mouth, her eyes, her nose. And then she moved on to her toys and to the little dog and to the attention of all her grown up relatives.

But when we returned to DC The Bees found her New York cousins M and H who are older. M is 6 years old, H is 9. Together they love to play with their cousin because she has finally achieved a fun stage, where she is not only running around, but talking in distinguishable words no less!

"She said "apple"", they shout. "She said "water"!" They note each new word and development, astonished.

So now they play together, chasing one another around the house, splashing in the bath, throwing a ball, sliding down a slide.

It's a world of difference for a child to have someone close to interact with. You can practically see the learning curve occurring. I wish I could give her a sibling but it's not to be. She'll have to make do with her cousins and of course her dog, Jemma. You can't overlook the power of the commands "fetch", "sit" and "stay".

Why does a trip to the zoo always necessitate a meltdown? It all starts nicely: we have breakfast, we stop in to see some friends at Balducci’s and we drive over to the National Zoo. The Bees remarks on seeing the bronze lions at the front gate, and she starts calling out for “CatCat”. We park, get her snapped into the stroller and start hiking up the hill. If we’re there by 10:00 we have a good chance at seeing the big cats and they oblige by stretching, flicking their long heavy tails, lazily stretching and even growling over the wall.

To leave the cat area I have a bit of a struggle getting her back into the stroller. Now that she’s 23 pounds I simply can’t carry her in one arm and push the stroller in the other. Especially since she’s got Dora in a vice grip and she’s not even trying to help by holding onto me with either arm.

We get to the gorilla house, always a rewarding destination. I feel an immediate sense of calm when I enter. The black creatures are meandering about, chewing on lettuce and onions, hanging in their beds, trundling through doorways. Bees waves and blows kisses. I look into their eyes wondering what they are thinking when they see us. I hope they are not sad or bored. I hope the rope swings and balls and fake trees are enough to make a life.

Somehow when it’s time to leave the gorilla house The Bees starts by running away from me. This is fun for about 2 minutes. Then she screams and kicks as I lift her. I check my watch and indeed, it’s after 11 and approaching nap time. She refuses to go in the stroller but she also refuses to walk. Outside she throws herself on the concrete and starts a fit. It’s a battle but I have to win this one. I wrangle her stiffened body onto the stroller and snap on the belts. It’s a noisy ride down to the parking lot.

The way to ensure a peaceful ride home so that I can make a few calls is to give her Altoids. Ever since she was one she’s been asking for this most powerful of mints. It eludes me – how is that her delicate palate can tolerate it, when I can barely stand to eat one?

All I know is, by the time we are home and I am rocking her to sleep she gives one sweet, minty kiss. Maybe I should pack them in the stroller for the next visit to the gorilla house.

We are in the throes of applications, interviews, and tours. It seems absurd; the Bees is not quite 20 months and we are wringing our hands over what school she will be attending next fall.

It seems that The Bees might be outgrowing our daily ritual of getting Mummy’s coffee, dry cleaners, book store, a zip through the zoo, a whirl around the playground, swinging legs at a café table lunch, charging through Safeway, tromping through the woods with the dog. Throughout the week we have sprinkled some classes: Spanish, Music, and Blue Igloo Playgroup. Even so, I find her calling out when we drive by groups of children, shrieking when we pass a playground, and as I’ve mentioned before, she loses her heart to a new nanny every week.

And she is ready. She needs to be around other children, to be under the tutelage of other grownups, to have a facility with plants, puzzles, play doh, a toy kitchen, bubbles and what have you.

Now, whether I’m ready to part company remains to be seen. What will I do with my 2-1/2 hours of free time? I have dreams of grandeur: a part-time marketing job, volunteering at a shelter, storming the capital to campaign on important issues. Even if I end up just sitting here at home alone, drinking too much coffee, typing away at my blog, I forge on, knowing this is a good thing for both of us.

The issues with preschool are proximity, facilities, financial and, frankly, cache. There are several schools nearby. Two of them are close but only offers a 2-day program for 2 year olds. 2 days is simply not enough for either of us. One school that I really liked in Georgetown disqualified us as The Bees was 14 hours too young. She would have to have been born by March 31^st, but she was born on April 1^st. I pleaded and cajoled, to no avail. They were polite but firm and encouraged us to apply for the following year. 

There is one school that is twice the price of the others. Twice! Is a 2 year old really getting double the value at School B over school A? Who knows. I agonize over minor things like windows, fluorescent lighting, whether there is a pet animal in the classroom. They don’t have a foreign language class? Mon Dieu!

And the tours and interviews are "sans bebe". So you have to get a sitter, or beg your parents, so that you can go, tour the school and then sit down to hear what makes their 2-year old program better than any other.

My father commented that where she goes doesn’t really matter, that at this age she is really focused on things that are within three feet of her. Simple things like paper, water, trees, dolls, things that snap, zip, button and fold.

In the end of course, the choice is not mine to make. There are so many families with sibling priority, families with famous last names, families with connections (of all the DC people we know we are the least politically or socially connected I believe).

No matter where she goes there is one important thing these preschool teach that will apply to me: “You get what you get and you don’t get upset”.

Accessories are the bane of my existence. I must say I've wasted more money on The Bee’s accoutrements for hair, hand and foot. With girls especially, there is this need, either a socially-encouraged one or maybe from within, (a desire to dress up my own living doll). Let's be clear- I'm no Mrs. Benet Ramsey: we have yet to have professional pics and there will be no beauty contests.

Starting with those for hair, how many of these things have I bought only to have them drift off, ricochet into the sunset, or be ripped out by her own grubby little hands. There they go to the great graveyard of hair accessories. More elastics, bows, flowers, buttons, cats, sequins, felt... now dust in the wind.

And then there are shoes. I was so excited to find that Trumpette, the company that makes those cool socks that look like Mary Janes, also makes patent leather driving shoes that look like baby Tod’s. So I got them in hot pink in the smallest size available. When The Bees outgrew those I got another pair. She had worn them just once when, after tickling her on a sidewalk in Bethesda, I drove home to find, in horror, that one shoe was gone. It had been kicked off in the tickle frenzy.

It was worth a return trip to search the streets, but with no luck I am now certain it went straight down the Bethesda street storm drain, those yawning chasms that menace you whenever you park- inviting your keys, wallet, glove and shoes to tumble down into an abyss.

And now we're on to mittens. I bought three pairs when she was an infant. The first was just a fleece sack, and it slipped right off her paws. The second pair had a thumb and fit well but had no insulation so her paws were as frigid as if they had been out in the elements. The last pair was perfect: water-proof and warm, but she soon outgrew them.

Now I am in the market for a new pair: waterproof, windproof, and child-proof (she can't take them off). I can’t remember where I bought that last pair and I have been to 5 stores to no avail. And when I do find those mittens how do you get their thumbs in the right place and get the mitten to stay on? I have the clips to attach to their jacket. But please – how do they stay on those slippery little hands, frantically waving and grabbing and patting and picking and pulling everything in sight.

I just can’t bear to lose one more accessory right now. I have just purchased two tiny little holiday bow clips from Kidville. One is green with a glittery stone and one red. Let’s see if we can get through Thanksgiving with what we have. Just one week I pray.

My second favorite subject these days, after The Bees, is food. Since CB travels every week I frequently eat alone at home so nothing makes me happier than discovering a new take-out item or something easy to cook at home.

I think I’ve mentioned that I food shop at three stores: Safeway on Sangamore, Whole Foods in Glover Park and Trader Joe’s in Bethesda. I like to say I get my staples at Safeway but there are really two reasons why I go there: Skinny Cows and Steamfresh veggies. Skinny Cows keep you from ordering dessert. They are fudgey and satisfying, especially if you eat two. I've eaten so many that I've definitely earned the second part of the name. Steamfresh veggies are frozen bags. They microwave in 4 minutes and are crisp and delicious. I drizzle some olive oil or soy sauce on mine (which defeats the purpose) and I can eat an entire bag in one serving. At Safeway I can also pick up organic ground beef and chicken for the Bees. It’s too late for me – I continue to sully my body with toxins and artificial everything, but we have only highest organic hopes for her.

At Whole Foods I get my ready-made soups. Every fall I turn to soups again, hoping to stave off those old holiday pounds lurking around the corner. Full and warm I am only truly satisfied if I end with a Spanish manchego cheese or a creamy French goat log. The cheeses at this store are amazing. Ask for Thistle Hill Tarentaise, an aged, rinded cheese similar to a mountain gruyere.  My brother John makes it up in Vermont. While shopping at “Whole Paycheck” I pick up three or four boxes of organic Elmo meals for The Bees (an inoffensive combo of pasta with steamed veggies). Believe me, the brand comes in handy: giving her the box alone buys you 20 minutes of solitude). On my recent trip to Boston I was introduced to American Flatbread found in the freezer section. This pizza is my new favorite thing. It’s a thin crust, with delicious toppings of mozzarella, tomatoes and herbs. If you are as picky as I am about pizza then you must try this. It comes in single servings (perfect for the lonely, part-time, single mom).

Finally at Trader Joe’s in Bethesda I find individually wrapped frozen cutlets of fish and pork (convenient to cook for the Bees), as well as turkey meatballs and a few prepared meals for myself.

As I'm reading this it all sounds quite healthy (but for the cheese). Of course, I don’t mention the peanut butter cookies I might pick up under the auspices of doing something nice for my husband. Or the one or two samples of brownie bites, or the occasional piece of chocolate here and there. Never mind. The Bees still loves me, holiday pounds and all.

So now that we have one we're part of this club. This exclusive group which, when we were single and/or had no child we had no interest in joining anyway. But here we are, and here comes the wave of holidays again, the parties, the family gatherings, the this, the that. And I can see how you can use your kid as an excuse.

When we go shopping why do I use my child as an excuse to talk out loud, to hear my own voice (and how that used to enrage me B.K. (before kid). And refer to myself in the third person in that irritating way, as in "Give it to Mummy".

But I do use her as an excuse, and not just to get out of doing the dishes, or cooking a meal. Having a kid is a nifty way to leave a soiree early, to arrive late, or to beg out completely. It's also a convenient means of making conversation especially if you're somewhat at a loss. I am also relieved to have an excuse to not talk about work all the time. Maybe that's because I myself am not working. I’ll talk another time about the tug-of-war between envy and guilt about staying at home.

When we’re out at a cocktail party I do usually ask about other people's children. But when parents start talking about how their kid did the funniest thing the other day my eyes just glaze over and I sort of space out and think about what is on that serving tray that was just whisked by my nose. And also who is that woman over there and how dare she have cuter shoes.

Sometimes I do wonder whether I'm hiding behind my child.

Do I blame it on The Bees so that I can escape chaotic gatherings? Sometimes I run out of a room at the first cry (hers, not mine) so I can sit in a rocking chair in the dark, her head heavy on my shoulder, listening to her breathe. If I’m not in a fit of pique missing out on the conversation downstairs, and if it’s not the 14 time that night that I’ve consoled her, then I think about all the centuries of mothers who have done that very thing. Sometimes (indulge me here) I even think of the mothers back in the 1800's riding the covered wagons crossing the vast expanse of our country, praying against assault of man, weapon, disease or famine. And I think of these women holding their wailing children, willing them to sleep, the wagon lurching and creaking along through the night.

No parent likes to admit her child is behind developmentally. While I’ve spent months crowing about The Bees’ physical agility I have been noticeably subdued on the topic of speaking. It's not that she hasn't been talking. Vying for airtime with her parents, her observations become louder and more urgent, but it's nothing you mere mortals would understand. But after months of little to no progress in the English language department we seem to have made a breakthrough. All of a sudden, in this 19th month, The Bees has decided to throw us a few bones. In fact, this week alone we got “shoes”, “blow”, “flower”, “freeze”, and “soup”. And of course CB and I beam across at each other, each jockeying for a crumb of credit.

As we approach the holidays (and the prospect of larger family audiences) I imagine the language tumbling out of her. Let’s not discuss the little girl at the Palisades Library story time, who was uttering full sentences at 16 months. “I want to read a book now”, she said to her caretaker in a tiny sing-song voice. I smiled through gritted teeth as I congratulated the proud nanny. Meanwhile Bees was in my lap, turning around to say one of the 9 words in her repertoire: “Mama”. Somehow it made it worse knowing that these two girls had started out on the same level back when they were 3 months old at Jonah’s Treehouse.

Of course The Bees’ favorite word right now is “No”. Actually it’s with emphasis, like “Nyoh!”. Tired of this response to his every plea for affection, CB is dying for her to say “yes”. I’d like to hear that magic word “please” for once. But of course it stands to reason - she knows we want it too much.

And I guess I have to wait until Christmas 2009 before I hear, “You are simply the Best Mummy in the whole wide world”.