It must be said that after the rain comes the sun.  And after a weekend of very difficult days and more attitude than I knew a two-year-old was capable of, Charlotte woke up yesterday morning in a great mood.

We made art in the morning.  We shared a Very Special Treat (a brownie and juice) with lunch.  We read books and blew bubbles and gardened most of the afternoon.  We drew with chalk on the driveway.  We listened to music and danced.

Okay, she danced.  I watched.  Then she twirled as fast as she could and played Earthquake (when she gets dizzy, we run as fast as we can to our house’s earthquake safe-spots).

In the evening when Donald came home, we spent time outside together and then we ate sandwiches for dinner.  It was a lovely spring day.  When the tide is against me, I cling to memories of days like those as though they were a life raft.  And when everything is going well, I just enjoy sitting back and thinking about the smiles we shared.

The past few weeks with Charlotte have been particularly difficult.

As a general whole, I do not believe in writing about hard days with Charlotte.  It makes me uncomfortable.  If my daughter reads this blog at age 16 and ever, even for a second, doubts that we love her beyond all measure or is offended by something I wrote about our relationship with her, then I guarantee that this website was a monumental waste of time and energy.

At the same time, however, it is important to me that this blog remain an honest representation of my experiences as a parent.  So when I think about the last few weeks, I simply do not know what to say.

Fun at the pirate park!  (When did she get so big?!)

I have been turning this new developmental phase over in my head and what I have come up with is this: Charlotte is showing us in age-appropriate ways (for example, she might scream loudly in protest or ignore my requests when they infringe upon an area of her life over which she greatly desires control, or she might burst into tears when she has difficulty finding the words to verbally communicate her emotions) that some of her needs are not being met.

She is not rebelling.  She is not testing her limits.  And I patently refuse to call behavior that is normal for a two-year-old (if perhaps inconvenient for me) “terrible.”  I have been explaining it to people by saying that I believe she wants more control over the day-to-day aspects of her life, but I think that a second truth to the matter that is immensely more difficult to handle is that as much as she may want more independence, she also NEEDS more consistency in our family life, more responsibility within our family customs and more stability in our daily routine.

Donald and I do not spank or use time-out.  We also try to keep bribes, threats, reverse psychology, and guilt trips to a minimum.  Nine times out of ten when we are dealing with a behavior that we want to “fix,” we handle it by talking to Charlotte.  Just talking.  If the talk is serious, we hold her in our arms or hold her hands in ours and make eye contact and discuss what behavior we would like to see, why we would prefer this behavior to other behaviors, and what her options are going forward.  We call it “time in.”  In minor cases, such as refusing to relinquish a toy at someone’s house, we might also divert her attention - although this is an increasingly ineffective tactic as she reaches an age where she’s capable of seeing right through our bullshit.

The time-in tactic almost always works for us.  And when it doesn’t, then we try again.  In extreme cases, we handle behavioral problems by isolating Charlotte and ourselves from a situation together for several minutes.  Then we find another activity to engage in and discuss what happened while we work together on that.  Gentle discipline is very important to us and it is not an area that we are willing to compromise at this point because we still feel that it is working for us.

Still, here we are.  Charlotte and Donald and I are all exhausted by the frustration, the disappointment, the miscommunication.  This is the first time in Charlotte’s life that we have not kept up with her need for more independence.  We both believe that this is how parenthood is supposed to go.  Over a period of approximately two decades, we will sometimes hand her power and she will sometimes demand it, and over time she will gradually come to run her life on her own.  The challenge is to find the balance: what is she ready for?  What is she not?  Where are we willing to compromise?  Where are we not?

I honestly believe that our struggle to find the best way to deal with this new development is in large part the result of our pregnancy.  Simply put, I don’t feel great right now.  I have less patience and less energy and this has enormously impacted the quality of care-taking that Charlotte receives on a day-to-day basis.  These are the days in Charlotte’s life when we begin to give her the tools to handle problems that will arise in her future with confidence, maturity, and thoughtfulness - and when I’m not feeling 100%, I have a hard time modelling positive ways for her to develop those skills.  I want to scream “PUT YOUR TOYS AWAY AND THIS WON’T HAPPEN!“ or “DAMN IT, STOP CRYING!“ instead of sitting down and empathizing with her when she steps on a Lego - and although I keep trying to stick to what Donald and I believe in, I’m sure that my daughter picks up on it.  Children are more perceptive than we give them credit for, I think.  There is no doubt in my mind that Charlotte knows when I feel impatient or angry and I think this only fuels her frustration and this is reflected in her behavior.  That behavior may be age-appropriate, but when it isn’t the sort of behavior we want (i.e. whacking a kid on the head with a stick because she’s angry), it becomes apparent that this is a difficult cycle to break.

Donald and I both have confidence that our family will come out of this with flying colors.  Even on the roughest days, we provide Charlotte with the very best that we can give her: our unyielding, unconditional love.  We try to be consistent.  We try to be patient.  We try to find an appropriate balance between standing firm and giving in.  We try to be positive role models.  At the end of the day, if our daughter comes out of this and says “I always knew I was the center of my parents’ world,“ then where we have failed in the rest of it is small fish.  But even with the optimisim that we will triumph through this phase and that the foundation we are laying is solid, right now I still feel a little defeated that this is going on at all.

A little defeated and a lot fatigued.

    -  Momma, did you eat an apple with me?
    -  Yes I did.
    -  Why did you eat that apple, Momma?
    -  I ate the apple because I was hungry, sweetheart.
    -  Why were you hungry?
    -  Um.  I guess I was hungry because my body wanted more energy.  My stomach told me that I needed to eat food to digest.  One of the things our bodies do is convert foods we eat and digest into energy so that we can keep moving around and having fun.
    -  Why do our bodies make energy?
    -  It’s just how we evolved.  I imagine that most, if not all, living things need to get energy from some place.  You and I are human and in the case of human evolution, we’ve just been selected to obtain energy from food.
    -  Why are you human?
    -  I’m human because Grandma and Grandpa are human.  When I was conceived, they passed all of their genetic information on to me and that made me human.
    -  Why are Grandma and Grandpa human?
    -  Well their parents were human too.  And their parents before them.  And their parents before them.  A very long time ago our ancestors were probably more similar to apes, but over time our bodies and our brains changed to adapt to our environment until we became human.  Every generation since then has been human, and that includes Grandma and Grandpa and me and Daddy and you.
    -  Oh.  Am I human?
    -  Yes, you’re human too.
    -  But I am not human, Momma!  That is silly!  I am just Charlotte.

As soon as she began asking “why?“ all the time, I promised myself that I would answer all of her questions truthfully.

In my defense, I had no idea that she was going to be interested in everything.  Why do the clouds move?  Why is that man’s hair black?  Why doesn’t Millie purr?  Why are ladybugs so small?  Why do boys have penises?  Why do caterpillars tickle her arm?  Why are snails so slow?  Why does that car not look like our car?  Why is the baby still in my belly?  Why is Daddy at work?  Why do we not play with wires?  Why are some mushrooms poisonous?

You would not believe the number of new things I have learned in the last month on my quest to answer her questions.

** Charlotte is two years and nine months old.  I am fourteen weeks pregnant.

In case you are wondering (and you probably are not, but my dad would have soooo much less ammunition against me if my blog went without my trademark habit of oversharing), the last eleven days in this house have been 100% vomit-free.  None of my other pregnancies have involved morning sickness – hardly even a whisper of nausea – but the first trimester of this particular Operation Sacred Vessel was predominantly spent in a fetal position on the couch.

I sometimes mixed that pattern up by assuming a fetal position on the bathroom floor as well.  Sneezes and yawns were particularly dangerous as they could quickly turn from something benign into something that had me hovering over the toilet begging for mercy.  For awhile there, I was even waking up in the middle of the night for the sole purpose of throwing up dinner, like all that transference of breakfast and lunch into my septic tank wasn’t quite enough.

And do not EVEN get me started on the dreaded task of brushing my teeth.

But then, suddenly, it started to wane.  I still have rough days – and nearly every evening is spent lounging about on the couch like a useless lump – but I can now perform basic human functions without feeling like death warmed over.  Two days ago, I actually found a dirty dish that had escaped from us and incubated its very own ecosystem and I was able to wash the whole thing out without retching once.  And yesterday I walked into the produce section of a market and did not immediately empty the contents of my stomach on the grounds that I could smell that one rotten avocado in the dumpster three miles away.  I can even imagine a day when I might be able to hammer out a blog entry again without my brain turning off halfway through because I’m too exhausted to spell my kid’s name.

I know, I know.  What will I blog about next?!  Banana slugs or ear wax?!  BECAUSE THEY’RE BOTH MORE INTERESTING!  But seriously: this is actually big news around here.

Today I might even drag my sorry ass outside and take some pictures.  We are fourteen weeks and two days down this path and I am at that point in a pregnancy where Donald can tell that I’m showing and I can tell that I’m showing and people who know me and see me frequently can tell that I’m showing…but everyone else thinks I just need to lay off the potato chips.  It’s freaking awesome.  Say what you will about that “warmed up” effect of subsequent pregnancies, the truth of the matter is this: if I’m going to spend seven weeks puking my brains out, I sure as hell better have a uterus the size of Russia to show for it.  Otherwise, that’s just a lot of wasted ice cream is what that is.

Unless my midwife is reading this.  In that case, it’s a lot of wasted edamame and summer squash.

And look!  I managed to keep my kid alive through it too!  I’m winning all the way around!

** Charlotte is two years and nine months old.  I am fourteen weeks pregnant.

We knew that that day was coming, the day when their heart would stop beating and they would take their last breath.  We watched time march forward, slowly, one step and then another.

Death is an excellent teacher.  It reminds you to take advantage of the small moments you have left with everyone around you.  It reminds you that when you enter and exit this world, your needs are reduced to this: people that love you.  It reminds you that days are long but years are short.  It reminds you that laughter and love endure when all else fades to dust.

We came to the house to whisper our good-byes and make the promises Death reminds you to make.  The promises you should have been keeping all along.  You will appreciate more.  You will be more present.  You will be a stronger person.  You will love more fervently.  You will stand steady by those you cherish.  You will make an effort to find them when they are lost.  You will be there, you will navigate these tumultuous waters with them.

The call came on a Sunday morning.  We stood silent for a minute and reminisced.  Then we bought Donald that suit and tie that we’ve known he would need.  And we bought Charlotte a little black dress with a little black sweater and little black tights.

And I told her: this is Death, my love.

And I told her: this is Life, my darling.

Over the weekend, we came together.  We signed a guestbook.  We sat in a place of worship.  And there, among faces we knew and faces we didn’t know, we listened and we remembered and we honored the very best we could.

When the sun rose the next morning, I looked at my daughter sleeping between us in bed and felt that profound gratitude that only comes when you have come face-to-face with loss.  I kissed her forehead.  I thought about the questions about life and death that I’ve answered from her this week and the questions I will answer in the years to come - and I felt immensely lucky to have the chance to answer these questions at all.  It may be the cruelest of teachers, but I think we can all learn something from Death.  And in this house, after this death, that something is thanksgiving.

Rest in peace.  If there is one thing I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, it is that you are always dearly loved and sorely missed.

*** Comments are closed on this post.  I do not allow commentary on goings-on within my larger family community.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  If this post does anything, please let it remind you to take a moment to be more patient and more present today.  We all owe this world a death and we never know when it might come.