The other day, I got sucked into a wormhole of looking at baby-Felicity pictures and re-reading baby-Felicity posts, and truly I say to you, if I had not blogged during the first two years of her life, I would not remember a THING. Nothing! I'm so glad I translated so much of my experience of her babyhood into a bunch of words slapped onto the Internet. People can scoff all they want at blogging or wring their hands over the state of writing online, but without this space and the people who visit it, my memories would be imperfect and in many cases, non-existent.
Also, it amazes me to look back and see how expressive my girl was, even at a few months old. Many people remarked upon it at the time, but since I didn't have much baby experience, I had no frame of reference. Now I see it, too, and what's so funny to me is that her face has hardly changed, even though the hair (there is HAIR now!) is long and lustrous, and the body has grown to gargantuan proportions (relatively speaking).
Oh, to go back in time and snuggle her just a little bit longer!
Those pink footie pajamas said "Snow Cute" on them, but she wore them in June, which was highly amusing at the time (ok, you guys, I cannot stop looking at that picture and thinking about what it was like to hold that wriggly, smily baby -- ACK). So having taken that trip into the baby-Felicity vortex, "Snow Cute" is on my mind and ties in nicely with telling you about how we spent the snow-rrific weekend.
Last Friday,when The Weather began, Felicity was very excited about the precipitation. We were coming back from our post-school diner lunch (wherein Felicity stole my matzoh ball soup and I ended up gnawing on her chicken fingers while attempting to keep her from dumping chicken broth all over creation) when she saw some sleet collecting on the ground and shouted, "Mommy! I want to pick up the snowflake and show it to Daddy! I'm going to bring it home to show Daddy when he gets home from work!"
"You're carefully holding the snowflake and not dropping it so you can show it to Daddy."
That evening, I braved the elements to go to the ballet, and when I told Felicity where I was going, she replied, "Mommy needs to put on her leotard, tights, and a tiara!" She was very disappointed when I left the house in jeans and hiking boots, having gone the casual route in case I needed to walk home (happily, I got a cab easily, both ways). It was a magical night, being out in the snow at Lincoln Center, with everyone rosy-cheeked and cheerful from the blizzard, stamping off their boots and wiping off dripping mascara as they entered the theater. That's what happens when you have a city of a few million people who don't have to shovel their own sidewalks or driveways, or drive anywhere under their own power: we're downright giddy about heavy snowfall.
The next morning, when I raised the shades in Felicity's room (most days, the first thing she says when she wakes up is, "Turn on the blinds" -- hee), she said, "It's snowing! You want to go out in it! It looks magical." We had plans to go to a program for children at the ballet (yes, ballet AGAIN), so after a leisurely breakfast we headed out. Felicity loved the program, but when we got outside afterward she was hot to try walking in the giant mounds of (dirty, gross) snow alongside the streets so we let her climb some piles and stomp around in some tree-wells before she abruptly lost her mind and sobbed, "I need to go home and rest my body!" (Could you die? "Rest my body"??) We trundled her on home and she skipped lunch in favor of an early nap.
The next day, she was much improved so we set out to the park to attempt a snowman. At breakfast she said, "I want to go outside and make a snowman baby and give him a hug and ask him how he's feeling!" Unfortunately, the frigid air made the snow all powdery so we couldn't even press together anything resembling a ball, but that didn't stop Felicity from hugging and holding hands with the snow-mom and snow-baby that someone else had built the day before.
After tiring of the snow-family (they were kind of dull conversationalists, after all), we went home and borrowed a sled from our neighbors, then headed back out to tackle some hills. I wasn't sure how Felicity would take to the whole thing, but she LOVED it. She didn't even want me going down the hill with her: "You want to go in the sled by yourself, JUST!" Many times, I rode along anyway (because I didn't want to miss out on the fun, not out of concern for her), but we did send her down solo quite a lot. I am pretty sure the families around us were ready to call child protective services, because we let her fly over the little lip of snow and go tearing across the bare pavement every time. I swear, it was not dangerous at all, but it LOOKED rather daring to the untrained eye. She was so good at holding onto the handles and staying perfectly still and upright, and the look of utter glee on her face every time absolutely took me out.
That afternoon, we made brownies and played at home and endured the inevitable sugar crash and its attendant emotional fallout. Then we chatted with Grammie and Granddad on the phone, read some Valentine's Day and winter-themed books, and had some dance sessions in front of the living room mirror.
It was a very cozy weekend, and during her naps I slept and read and ate about a pound of brownies, which is about all I can ask from life. The whole thing almost made me want winter to stick around longer -- but only if we get more snow, and only if it arrives on a Friday and leaves by Monday. Almost.