Hannah's Manual

I've often heard people lament the fact that newborns do not come with a manual. Recently, I thought about what Hannah's would have said if she'd been born with one attached. I think parts of it would read something like this:

I want you to remember what you are thinking right now as you gaze upon my precious sleeping face. I know, I look so tranquil. But this will pass. Before you have a chance to fully appreciate this stage in my life, I will learn to talk. And to manipulate the way I talk in order to get what I want. I will whine. A lot. Even when I'm five and you think I'm much too old for it. I will also pick up the nuances of what you consider to be "teenager-ish" attitude and employ them while still in kindergarten. This will annoy you a lot which is why I want to you to remember how sweet I look right now.

I will be a bit shy. Okay, for a little while I will be so shy that strangers will wonder if I can talk at all. Loud noises will startle me. When I'm a bit older, you will discover that merely opening a can of pop is enough to wake me from a deep sleep and that ripping a piece of paper in my presence has the power to reduce me to tears. Even though I will eventually make more noise than you ever thought possible, and sometimes in the presence of strangers, I will continue to be sensitive to noise. And anything slightly scary. Like Swiper the Fox on Dora. He is so disturbing that I will need to leave the room whenever he appears. So encourage me to be brave, but be patient when I'm not.

When I sleep when my arms raised above my head in a pose of utter relaxation, it will be hard for you to imagine that as I get older I will often reside on the edge of panic. If I can't get my shoes on, I will become so frustrated that I will essentially have a full meltdown because why won't they just go on?  You will tell me to relax but how can I relax when life just won't work? Oh, and about the whole panic thing, I should warn you about my reactions to minor injuries. It will be a bit dramatic, but I assure you I feel entirely justified about my responses. And when I say I can't help it, I really mean it. I do want comfort, but I don't want you to touch me while it's happening. I will accept hugs about an hour after the fact, though.

Right now, the biggest thing I need is love. That won't change. But it might get harder. There will be times you will look at me and be overcome with how much you love me and there will also be times when love isn't the first emotion that comes to mind. I can not describe the person I will eventually become, but I will always be your daughter. And your baby. Even when I'm not speaking to you because I think your ideas about a curfew are ridiculous.

The Unanswerable Why

Jacob, like most toddlers, is going through the "why" stage. I've witnessed other children in this stage; in fact, I must have gone through it with Hannah. But Jacob has taken it to a level that is nothing short of impressive. He can stretch the original why along a tangent so long that it's hard to believe each question is actually connected to the one that preceded it.

A sample (but even it won't do justice to a real conversation - I really just can't remember all of it):

Jacob: Why does the floor have a hole in it?
Me: Because it's an old house.
J: Why is it old?
Me: It was built a long time ago.
J: Why was it built a long time ago?
Me: That's just when the builders decided to build it.
J: Why did they decide to build it?
Me: Someone needed a house.
J: Why did someone needed a house?
Me: So they would have somewhere to live.
J: Why did they want a house with a hole in it?
Me: It didn't have a hole in it then.
J: Why didn't it have a hole in it then?
Me: Because it was new.
J: Why was it new?

And on and on and on. You get the general idea.

The ones I love though stem from misunderstandings. Such as:

Me (reading a story about ducks watching the geese fly south): The ducks watched their long-necked neighbours take off for the winter.
J: Why did they take off their necks?
Me: No, they watched them take off, like fly, like how a plane takes off. They watched them take off and fly away.
J: But why did they have to take their necks off first?