Why People Have 2nd (and 3rd and 4th) Children

Lucy is not a baby. She hasn't been one for a long time, but as we ate dinner tonight, I was acutely aware of her very organized, social interaction with everyone around her. She observed, she engaged, she responded, she charmed — using a combination of complete sentences and social nuance that was disturbingly mature. Not inappropriate, just beyond the awareness and emotional intelligence of a baby, or even a toddler. Or even some adults I know.

Tonight she asked when she would be a grown-up. I said, "When you're 21." She asked, "How old are you, Mama?" And I responded, "Thirty-three." She said, "Okay, I will be a grown-up when I am 33." I laughed. I did not tell her that when she is 33, she might look like a grown-up on the outside, but really it's okay if she's a big spaz on the inside.

She is learning to be a person, in a hurry to be a grown-up. It is exciting and sad. I mourn her babyhood, and I am so sad for every moment I rushed through. Surely I am hurrying her toward adulthood the way I hustle her through everything: "Get in your carseat please we're late no time for twirling yes I know you're dizzy thank you for the leaf you picked no I don't need another one get in the car before I count to ten or I will leave you here I mean it."

This regret makes me think, I want a baby again! But I don't. I want a baby the way people who have grown dogs or cats think they want a puppy or a kitten. It's all big eyes and sweet, needy sounds, until the charm wears off and you realize, wait, I already have one of these creatures that doesn't crap in its pants/on the floor!

I miss the moments I've missed, and no new creature will help me reclaim those. I am not saying never, but it will take a lot more yearning than this trite soliloquy to make me restack our Jenga life to accommodate someone who can't find its own Duck. Lucy has set a very high bar.

Lucy Logic

Exhibit A
Lucy, Jason and I were in snuggled up in bed and I told her we were spooning, you know, like three spoons all in a row. And she said, "No, I'm a spoon, you're a fork, and Dad's a knife."

Exhibit B
Jason was trying to get her to put her pants on to leave the house, and she didn't want to and kept asking, "Whyyyyy?" Jason explained that everyone didn't want to see her underwear. She countered, "But why not? They have Hello Kitty on them."

Princess is as Princess Does

A few days ago, we tried to dress Lucy in this darling halter top and matching shorts. She collapsed in a screaming heap, yelling, "NOOO! NOOOO!" Good lord, who doesn't love madras plaid? We finally made out the source of her agony: "NOOOO! PRINCESSES ONLY WEAR DRESSES!!!"

Princesses only wear dresses. Jason explained that princesses wear whatever they want, er...need to wear. I told her being a princess is about what you are on the inside, not what your wear on the outside (a take on my grandmama's warning that "pretty is as pretty does"). She conceded, snotty, red-faced and well-dressed.

Good Teacher

My mom is a really good teacher. Whenever I meet one of her former students, which I do a lot because Donaho is such an usual last name, they are always so excited to tell me how much they loved my mom. I went to see an orthopedist last year and it turned out his partner was a former student of my mom's. He and his family came as boat people from Vietnam, and he explained, with teary eyes (this very successful orthopedist) that my mom taught him (and his many siblings) to speak English.

These former students usually say, in addition to how much they loved her, how hard she was, but that it was okay because they needed it. And I can relate to this. She's been my teacher my whole life. Here are the things she has taught me so far:

• Make friends and be a good friend.
• Tell the truth (unless it is going to hurt someone's feelings unnecessarily).
• Always bring enough money to buy your own dinner (both literally and figuratively).
• Make your bed.
• Do the right thing, even when no one else is looking.
• Mind your manners.
• Share your opinion.
• Eat at least one bite of everything you're served.
• Give help and mercy where it's needed.
• Do a good job (and not just to please other people but because it feels good to do it).

I am the sum of these lessons, and I'm proud of it. I've had an amazing teacher.

The Princess Diaries

At 4:30 this afternoon, Lucy began referring to herself as "the Princess." She was wearing a long gold gown, a crown with crazy chiffon...thingies hanging off of it and the usual high-heeled, plastic mules.

"The Princess is really thirsty."

"The Princess needs a snack."

"The Princess wants some macaroni."

"Is this an early dinner? The Princess wants an early dinner."

After bath: "Look, Mom, the Princess is not stinky. I'm a princess burrito."

"Nooooo, not bedtime. Actually, the Princess is not tired."

"The Princess wants to read Arnie the Donut." Again.

The Princess went to sleep some time between 10:15 and 10:59.

The Court is very tired.

Likely to Be Fully Dressed Getting out of Limos

Last night Lu pooped in her pants at Central Market. And of course, we’re at that overconfident stage of potty-training where we have no back-up anything, so after weighing the risks of strapping an unsealed cloth bag of crap (her shorts, attached to her body) into my car, I decided to go into the bathroom and deal with it.

That decision, aside from being a horror scene (oh, patrons of the Central Market ladies’ room at 7:10 last night, you saintly women), led to a really interesting discussion:

“Mom, do you have more panties for me?”
“No, babe, but it’s O—.”
“Do you have a pull-up for me?”
“No, but we’re going to put your shorts back on and go ho—”
“NOOOO, I need panties!!”

It doesn't feel good to convince your three-year-old that it is, in certain situations, okay...to go without panties. But our other option — that she argued strenuously for — was marching her bare-assed through Central Market.

I won. As we left, she grabbed the crotch of her shorts and complained, “Mom, my shorts are touching my butt.”

Must wear panties! I may not be the best mother in the world, but I am at least better than Lynne Spears and Kathy Hilton.

Being There

Yesterday, Lucy and I lay on the grass under one of the oak trees in the front yard. It looked like it would rain, but Lu thought we’d be safe under the tree. We tried counting the leaves, but decided there were too many. We saw a butterfly and some birds. Lu found a really good stick. A black and red flying bug landed on me that Lu thought was a ladybug, then said, “Actually, it’s not.” The bug bit me, but I didn’t tell Lu.

We moved to the other oak tree, but there were ants, so we went back to the first one and played “Simon Says,” a game Lu doesn’t fully understand. At some point, Simon said “Snuggle up!” and she wiggled her body close to mine, with her cheek on the skin of my arm. We were quiet together for about three perfect seconds.

Underachievement: Part One in a Series

I am watching "Charlie Rose," the best show on television (that I sometimes delete from my Tivo to make room for "Sex and the City" reruns). He is talking with Harold Ford Jr., the former House candidate from Tennessee. The darling, bright man that I once referred to at a party as "Tennesee's Great Cafe au Lait Hope" — my well-intentioned, liberal misstep made an almost audible splat.

Anyway. Charlie and Hal (which is what I call him when I am thinking about him in the nighttime) are having this very serious, interesting exchange about the politics of race: What does the Imus statement mean about race relations in 2007? Is Imus a bad guy? And somewhere during this important conversation I hear that HAROLD FORD JUNIOR IS 36 YEARS OLD. First thought: had I been a cool enough freshman girl, Hal could have been my boyfriend. Second thought: I HAVE THREE YEARS TO BE ON CHARLIE ROSE.

It is very dismaying to be reminded, over and over again, that the people who are running the place are...us. At least, those of us who are getting more done than I am. This relates to Lu only inasmuchas she is really good cover for my lack of achievement (I've been too busy with potty training to mind race politics, okay?).

Lu, I lay the mantle of leadership on you. May you be the woman who is on the show before Hal or interviews Hal, but never needs to date Hal. Okay, date Hal if you want.

p.s. Small comfort: am now watching Tavis Smiley. He is a dingdong and I have no desire to be on his show. Lu, if you date someone like Tavis Smiley, I will openly shame you (and him) at dinner.