Why Did the Elephant Poop on the Ground?

The anticipation of the birth of my first daughter, my second baby, was great after a long, difficult, and somewhat high-risk pregnancy. First being on prednisone, then dealing with anemia after weaning off the atrocious steroid, those nine months of my swelling belly seemed to last an eternity. But when the day finally came and they placed my calm and content little one on my lap after a fairly easy induced labor, I fell in love. She lay there quietly sucking her hands and I looked at my husband and said something along the lines of, "I think I want to do this again." After having Aidan I wasn't sure that I would want more than one child, so I found it fascinating that after giving birth to Emie I was thinking about having three. Had I known that three years after at my second child's birth I would be handed a book called The Difficult Child at her annual well check-up, the thoughts of having a third child would have never entered my mind.

Who would have thought that this peaceful beautiful baby face . . .

. . . would have become this spunky monkey . . . .

So having just celebrated her third birthday, I thought the time had finally come to give you an overdue introduction to my daughter Emerson, a free spirited fire-cracker full of obstinate opinions.

The first two weeks of her life were quite calm and collected. Emie was a baby who ate and slept well. Our Eden like existence was short lived though; it took an emergency exit out the back door as Emie presented us with her pistol like personality. The incessant crying and late nights (some with no sleep) began and thoughts of another child quickly flew out the window. While much of the reason for her crying was due to a really bad case of acid reflux, I am now almost certain that at least some of that crying was in part Emie exhibiting the drama, willfulness, and sheer determination she demonstrates so freely today.

This adoring daughter of mine will do anything to be the center of attention. A fine example of this occurred only a few weeks ago while shopping at my local grocery. You see, my son had been telling a lot of "Why does a chicken cross the road" jokes, and my daughter had been using the rhythm of the joke to ask other questions. In her best jokester fashion on this day at the store she asked very loudly, "Why did the elephant poop on the ground?" I couldn't help but laugh out loud before asking her why indeed did the elephant poop on the ground. Her answer was her own laughter with no punch line in sight. I then proceeded to ask her where she heard the joke; she simply replied, "I made it up all by myself." At this I chose to keep my thoughts in my head, which was nodding side to side with a smile . . . Dear Lord Emie, you are obnoxious!

Her obnoxious nature has reached such a pinnacle of precociousness that it moved me to recently type the following two status updates on facebook:

"[I have] told Emie that for all the drama she creates, she best put it to good use someday and then walk me down the red carpet with her."

AND

"[I feel] like I'm in a movie filled with drama, angst and war. Emie is the star whose main goal in life is to waste every single second of the supporting actress's (that would be me) time and eventually drive her insane."

I mean, this is a girl who on a day I let her choose whatever she wants to wear, insists on arguing with me about whether her underwear goes on the outside or inside of her clothes, and upon asking her another day why she chooses to argue with me so much, she answers by belching in my face and laughing. So you can imagine that as her third birthday approaches, preparing for her party is a production like no other (thus yet another bit of a break from my blogging, sorry). She has opinions on what her cake should look like, what characters would support the theme, where she wants the party to be, and so on and so forth, and all at just less than three years of age. Despite her original wishes for a Spiderman party, we somehow (and gratefully) end up with Abby Cadabby's face gracing the cake I work on for so many hours. In the midst of the cake making process I hear more than once "I want my cake now!!!!" To which my reply finally is, "Then perhaps I'll throw this one in the trash." Silence is golden; mommy wins this battle . . . . So when the cake is finally completed, excitement ensues. Upon viewing it she looks up at me, smiles, and says with ardent enthusiasm, "Oh mommy, I love it so much! You did such a good job! Go mommy go, [insert claps] go mommy go!" and then squeezes my arm and says "Mommy I love you so much," and much like the day she is born and placed on my lap, my heart melts once more.

Emie is a girl much like my adult self, so it is inevitable that route of our relationship is going to be one of a collision course, but every crash is worth it for those heart-melting "I love you so much" moments. Her spunk and dogged determination is something I never had as a child, and in fact I was much more like my sweet and shy one, Aidan (who I will pay homage to soon enough). If she is like I am now at three years of age, I can only imagine the strong independent woman she can become by age 32. I have many dreams for her, however, whatever my dreams, they mean nothing next to what she can dream for herself, and I imagine the fearless fireball that is Emie is going to dream big and do whatever it takes to make said dreams come true (and perhaps even come up with a punch line for her now regularly repeated elephant joke, lol). So keep your eyes peeled, because just like any admiring mother, I believe there is a good chance Emerson is going to do something larger than life one day, and when she does, you can bet your ass I'll be shouting from the roof tops and boasting of her brilliance.

To my endearing Emie, always know that Mommy loves you so much too!