We took C off the milk boppies about three weeks ago now, I guess, or was it longer? I knew that it was time, and I was looking forward to fewer milk spills and a more well-rounded diet, but there have been some other really cool benefits, too, such as going been nearly a week since I’ve been to the grocery store.

When C was a milk addict, I always had to keep the fridge stocked. I went to the grocery store three times a week at least just to keep the milk in the fridge. And some of those trips were at hours when I should’ve by all rights been asleep. It’s at least 3 times easier to give her water than to give her milk.

And we are still trying to give her milk, just not in bottles. But she steadfastly refuses. Even though she was a certified milk addict, she doesn’t seem to actually like milk.

I get that.

C: I neeeeed that!!
Me: No, that’s just for looks.
C: But I neeeeeed looks!

I don’t know where it came from, but last night  C called me “Daddy Bird.” She’s been in a really cuddly, cute, wonderful phase lately, and I can’t tell you how wonderful it is. So she was giving me a big hug right before I put her to bed, and she said “I love you, Daddy Bird.”

This morning, I was goofing off with C and wearing her Nemo hat, and it wasn’t so out-of-the-blue for her to call me “Daddy Nemo,” but it was fun.

The so-called terrible twos are marked by fit pitching and screaming stubbornness. Just a minute ago, C flopped on the floor beside me, crying fake tears because I couldn’t make Wonder Pets magically arrive on the television on her demand. But now – 60 seconds later – she is standing in the middle of the room, singing some unknown song at the top of her lungs.

And it’s best for her to learn now that she won’t always get what she wants, believe me. She will get much less sympathy later in life.

There are some unpleasantries to the terrible twos, but most of it is wonderful, and that’s the way I’ll always remember it. You can keep your terrible twos; I’ll stick to the too cute twos, thankyouverymuch.

I’m not sure whom she was talking to, but it wasn’t me. Very likely it was her foot or hand.

First we need mama to get the remote, then I can watch wonder pets in my little bed. We’ll be right back, ok?

Let’s go wake mama up and get Wonderpets. Then I’m going to put my glove on and get Wonderpets.

My parents don’t have any video of me as a child, and I can honestly say I’m fine with that. So maybe it won’t matter much to C some day that I haven’t been able to capture every little cuteness on video. But it still matters to me. I know I will miss this cute toddler phase when it’s over, but what really bothers me is knowing that there will be things that will be totally lost to time – things that could be saved forever (for me if not for her) if only I’d had a camera rolling a little more often or at just the right time.

For several weeks, C liked to say “How about that, Dad? How about that?” But now I’m the one saying “How about that, C, how about that?” in hopes that she will say it, too. So it was on the way to work this morning that I said “How about that, Charley Pie, how about that?” Her response?

“I’m a pie!!!”

Over the last few weeks, C has become increasingly “daddified.” If I’m around, no one else will do for anything. Yesterday, when she awoke from her nap, she got up on her own and came into my office to tell me about her nap and her trip to the grocery store with her Mimi. After she finished she gave me a high five and then asked for a boppy. I got up and started walking towards the fridge, at which point my mom showed up and offered to lie back down with C. My poor daughter was horrified.

It took a good twenty minutes to calm her down.

I’d by lying if I said that I wasn’t a little flattered. Having a small person totally love you, trust you, and depend on you is a wonderful feeling. ‘Nuff said. But it has its drawbacks. I love having C at the office, for example, but it’s difficult to do that on rainy days if C sees me and just wants me to hold her or read to her. A month ago, I’d read her a story and then say “now it’s Mimi’s turn to read to you,” and she’d happily trot off. Now she wants nothing to do with anyone else and cries at the suggestion of leaving me.

Obviously, teething is also playing a role here.

A few months ago, when C was mamified, I tried to convince Katie that it was really hard for me not just because she didn’t want that much to do with me but also because it’s a rotten feeling to be the one always taking the child away from what makes her happy. “You might not like being the only one who can take care of her,” I’d say, “but imagine how it feels to be the one always making her cry!” Now I know the other side of the coin.

And she does cry when I leave her. C comes to work with me three days a week, and my mother usually beats us here in the morning, although she also tends to leave an hour before quitting time. But on the other two days, I take C to my mom’s house. And that has not been going well lately. For a few of those days, I finally had to have my mom peel C off of me while I ran out the door, having already spent thirty minutes or more (translation = making myself incredibly late to work) trying to get a daddified girl off my lap. On Monday of this week, my mom put on an Elmo video for long enough for me to sneak out of the room. Today, C was sitting by the front door, and the second she turned her back I made a run for the back door and escaped through the garage. I always wonder if C gets confused when she turns back around and I’m suddenly not there. And I feel absolutely terrible about it.

I wonder how long this will last. It’d sure be nice to have a middle ground.

Every day on our way home from work – a 30 to 40 minute commute – C happily goes from one four ounce “boppy” to another, quickly draining the two bottles I pack for her before leaving the office. And every day, she spends the last ten to fifteen minutes of our drive trying to convince me to let her have another boppy.

“Pweeze! Puweeze! Pweeze boppy?!?”

Every day I try to explain to her that I can’t just magically create more milk. I try desperately to compliment her on her nice manners but to explain that more milk simply isn’t a possibility, even though I’d kind of rather her think I’m perfect and magical just a bit longer. I suppose I could start bringing three or four bottles, but that’s not really the direction I want to head for her (and I don’t want to deal with it, either).

It’s rough that babies don’t understand logic and reality. They slowly learn that some things will lead to pain and therefore they should avoid them (C often says she doesn’t want to fall and her C’s self), but “drink your milk slowly” isn’t something she’s likely to understand anytime soon.

Ultimately, I’m ok with that. I just wish I could get her to stop crying on the way home.

This is my week without childcare, and today should be the hardest day. Usually, while I have no help with C, at least I have help with the business, but this morning the other staffer who isn’t on vacation is at the doctor’s office. And the morning Elmo video just ended, at 9:15. I would be more saddened by this if C had been paying attention to it in the first place, instead of mostly wanting to play with dad (which I obviously can understand; I’d rather hang out and play than watch Elmo, too).

So I’ve got three more hours without any help at all, trying to run a business and hang out with a toddler. Tomorrow, C and I are going to “work from home,” which is another way of saying “wear her out at her cousin’s house until nap time.” On Thursday and Friday I’m planning on setting up the pool outside, which should be fun, easy, and wear her out sufficiently. But while I considered trying to forward the office phone to my cell so I could sit outside with her this morning, I had to decide that it wasn’t much of an option.

I talked to my mom this morning, and she suggested running C up and down the stairs for exercise. It should be fun. Wish me well. And if you know the answer to this tree trimming question, please chime in!