Farrah’s Lullaby

Did you feel the universe shift last week?

There’s something about Farrah Star, the way she speaks, that has changed dramatically.

New words are articulated perfectly on the first try: “SAND CASTLE!” “PLAYGROUND!” “NO SLEEPING!” and old words have become inadequate: “WORKING” is now “TRUC SITE” (construction site).  “BA BA” has become “ORANGE BA BA”.  I’ve even caught “MOMMA” climbing into “MOMMY”.

She is still an enthusiastic storyteller:

“BACKPACK!  RAMP!  PLANE!  SEAT!  ARLO SEAT!  FISH!  UMMMM…TAXI!  CHOO-CHOO!  MIMMI HOUSE!  DADU HOUSE!”


Yes, you wore your backpack and ran down the ramp and on to the airplane!  Yes, you sat in your pink carseat and Arlo sat in his black carseat!  You ate goldfish crackers!  Yes!  We got on a train and rented a car!  We drove to Mimmi and Dadu’s house!  Yes!


“YEAH!”

Now she tells more stories and with even greater energy and emotion.  She can’t wait to tell you what happened and by you I mean me because with this shift has come a surprising shyness.

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One of her favorite stories is about the time she had a stomach virus – oh how she loves to tell this story! – and for the first time ever last week she said “ME THROW UP!” instead of “ME SICK!”.  Milestones, people.

Her sense of self is developing nicely.  Now when I call her “Silly Goose” or “Sugar Cube”, she scrunches her forehead and corrects me, “NO COOB.  ME FARRAH!”

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Greetings and and salutations have become important:

Everything gets a farewell: “BYE BYE HOUSE!  BYE HOME!” walking down the front stairs. “BYE BYE ARLO BIKE!  BYE BYE CAR!” closing the garage door.  Everything gets a farewell but no one gets a goodbye.  She will instead bury her delicious head in the crook of my neck as we walk away.  I will apologize for this because I understand the craving.

She has blended Peek-a-Boo and Hide-and-Seek into “SEEK-A-BOO” and when it’s her turn to count she just repeats “TWO” and “FIVE” because those are the only numbers she remembers because she is two and her brother is five.  Farrah loves being two.  She sings herself this lullaby every night:

I try not to overdo it with the videos but the benefit of having Farrah after Arlo is that I know this time is so, so fleeting.  Soon she’ll talk “For real.  For real life!” as my now five-year-old would say.  He used to be two.  Imagine that.

The Baby Farrah Era is coming to an end without blessing or permission and for the second time in my life I stand as a proud and privileged witness to it, a catalyst even, on my better days.  I cannot mourn the milestone; I only mark it and move on as motherhood demands, gathering moss with every roll.

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