Happily Yelling for Help

She’s not even two yet, and I can already identify so many of the ways my daughter is just like me.  She doesn’t look much like me.  As far as appearance, she more closely resembles her father.  In regards to personality, however, that girl is all me.  She wants to be just like her mother.  While this could be perceived as delightful and flattering, it is also frightening.  I don’t want her to be depressed the way I am.  I don’t want her to be moody the way I can be.  There are certain pains I have known that I never want my own child to experience.

If I were to truly protect her from such possibilities though, I would have to lock her away from the world.  I want her to feel great joy in her life, and I know that can’t come without some pain as well.  Right now, thankfully, she is still all smiles, and I am able to laugh at the majority of the actions and phrases she repeats after her mother.  For example, she always brushes her teeth with me in the morning and loves to rub an empty makeup brush across her face while I apply my foundation and blush.  It’s adorable.  It wasn’t quite as endearing, however, when she picked up a razor from the sink and tried shaving her upper lip.  I guess this mother has to take care of her damn mustache in the absence of her daughter. 

“No, Emily, no,” I said, as I took the razor from her hand, “Mommy thinks it’s sweet you want to be like her, but I hope you never have this problem.”  



Will work for mommy's hugs and kisses

One of my daughter’s most appealing mommy aping acts is her desire to help clean the house.  She loves following me around, dusting and picking up toys as I do housework.  In fact, she loves helping so much that I bought her a Swiffer all her own, and she was thrilled.  But, sometimes when she enjoys something, it’s all she wants to do.  She got so excited about cleaning that she started purposely making messes just so she could tidy up.  For one week, she poured her milk all over the floor and couch, and then grabbed a rag and gave her father and me big smiles while wiping up her own messes.

When she first learned how to clap, she was placing her hands happily together non-stop.  When she learned how to identify her body parts, she walked up to us, smiled, and pointed at her nose until she received recognition of her new talent.  When she learned how to say “juice,” my mom loaded her up on this sugary substance because she thought my daughter was thirsty and making constant requests, when really Emily was just proud that she had learned a new word.

Emily just learned another new word.  I know what you’re thinking, and no – she hasn’t dropped any f-bombs.  I try my damndest not to curse around my children, although I admit that this past Saturday I did tell my daughter, “Honey, you have to calm down now or mommy’s about to lose her shit.”  That wasn’t the new word either though.  No curses have come from her mouth.  However, I am still concerned that child protective services might believe there is a need to become involved as Emily’s new word is “help.”

We were visiting my parent’s yesterday, and they have three dogs.  One of the dogs, Lucy, loves to lick as a means of expressing her affection.  I was lying on the floor playing with my children, and Lucy ran up to me, hopped on my chest, and proceeded to furiously lick my face.  In an attempt to be humorous, I began to yell, “Help! Help! Puppy Attack! Help!”  Emily giggled, and then began repeating, “Help! Help!”

We have heard “help” almost every waking moment of the last twenty-four hours.  She screamed “help” when I put her in the car seat this morning. She was screaming “help” while I held her hand and walked her into day care.  She screamed “help” when I put her coat on.  When her father came home from work tonight, she ran to him in the hallway yelling “help.” 

Then, Emily decided it would be fun to intentionally place herself in difficult situations so that she had a reason to yell help.  First, she deliberately fell on the floor, and then sat on the laminate smiling and hollering for help.  Next, she opened the kitchen drawer, pulled out a dish towel, and placed it over her head, again requesting help as though it were the most amusing thing in the world.  Finally, she arranged the lay and play activity mat on her body pretending to be entwined and stuck in this toy.  She walked about for approximately  twenty minutes happily howling “Help! Help!” 

Therefore, I request of all my friends and followers, if you learn that child protective services has become particularly interested in the well-being of my child, please assure them that she, like her mother, is just very easily amused by herself.  Further, when she finds an activity or practice enjoyable, she’s always all in – diving in deep just as her mother does.  She doesn’t genuinely need help, and I already get the help I need from my medication and therapist.  I also get a great deal of help from the affection and admiration of my daughter, whom I want to help live the happiest life possible.

 

Happily Yelling for Help!