Anne’s new favourite thing is to call us all by Bear names.
As in, I’m Mummy Bear, Brian is Papa Bear, she is Baby Bear or Annie Bear, my mother is Granny Bear and so on.
And Joseph? He’s Curly-Bear. Yes, he of the stick-straight-barely-there-baby-hair has irrevocably been christened Curly Bear.
I don’t know where she gets this stuff.
She’s decided that since we don’t have a dog, she’ll have to take matters into her own hands. She has imagined up a lovely little puppy dog that’s all her own.
The dog’s name is Two Months and is bright pink.
Everytime we go to the park, she puts Two Months on the leash and then goes off on a run. Two Months likes to sleep in her bed and “goes row-row-row-row” to talk.
I think I have established that I am not a dog person; I have two tinies. I don’t need anything else in my house that eats, poops and destroys things.
I have settled in my heart that my daughter will likely be an enormous tomboy. No matter how much pink or princess is thrown in her path, no matter how many beautiful colouring books I lay on the kitchen table as an invitation to colour inside the lines with Mummy, she will have none of it. Sure, she might colour a token picture with me now and again. But her first love is and likely always will be SPORTS.
She is rather indiscriminate. Baseball? Loves it. Hockey? Loves it. Tennis? Loves it. Soccer? Loves it. Running? Loves it. Basketball? Loves it. Football? Loves it. Golf? Lacrosse? Cricket? Loves it. Loves it. Loves it.
She would rather play sports than do anything else in the entire world.
Brian, of course, is thrilled.
I am hoping that Joseph likes musicals.
Brian is just hoping that I stop attacking Joseph’s stick-straight-barely-there-baby-fine-hair with his styling products in an effort to create Baby-Faux-Hawks.
