I can't stop thinking about summer.  Here's one from last June.  Now I can't stop thinking about their curls.

We sat through the list of Ages and Stages questions at Uma's four year check-up yesterday. Perhaps I'd feel less ridiculed if nurse Martin spoke to us in anything but baby-talk*... The girls, after four years are warming up. You know, my children who want to get to know anyone who crosses their path .... Of course he is the one who administers their shots; we'll give him that one, I suppose. But baby talk? He kinda drives me crazy.

Anyway, I always get a little nervous during that Q & A session, because you don't have to talk to us that way!, and also because I honestly have to think really hard to make sense of it. I so never concern myself with my children's development that it's almost like trying to have a conversation in a new language. I mean, spend five minutes with my children and you will appreciate my attitude toward this lists of questions. I'm really not worried. They're doing alright.

This is something that the doctor generally realizes (which is one of the reasons we are so glad to have her, despite her schedule that excludes Friday visits which, as it turns out, is the day of the week we always have to bring the girls in unplanned).

It must have been at Xochi's three year check-up, as she was enduring (with the same look of confusion she gets when asked obvious questions) the colors quiz from the doctor, that Uma (at that time one-and-a-half or so) jumped in and started answering the questions for her.

My intent here, honestly, is not to brag. What my point is, is that it seems to be part of my role as a parent to participate in this kind of check-marking, skills-based, development-concerned conversation. What if I just let my kid have a conversation with you, and you leave the checklist tucked underneath your stack of folders? And what if, even if she didn't pass, you just let her be a kid anyway?

I get it, I do. I'm sure the lists serve as an aide for children who may need some sort of services in the present or future, for some sort of major developmental concern. But what about those kids who just develop at their own particular rate, for whatever reason. Do they need services? Or does this just make the parents feel better?

I can't honestly say that if I had a child who showed some kind of delay that I wouldn't consider some sort of pro-active something. But I'm quite sure that would be fear-motivated-- the fear that if she didn't turn out quite right that it could be traced back to me.

What I would hope to say in a situation like that is that I would choose to allow my child to be a child--the very child she happens to be. That I would allow her to play, and learn about the world through her experiences (not a made-for-baby computer* or some other thing), and to move at her own pace. And then my faith that that she would turn out just right (not according to a checklist, but to me and especially to her!) would dispel all the anxiety, fear, and guilt.

Alas, I was raised to experience guilt as a daily ritual*--morning, noon, and night, thank you very much (and at snack and nap times, too). So, you know, I'm working on that, and in terms of this argument, I guess I just need to question my choice of practitioners and the extent of my willingness to play this game.

Did I mention that the doctor asked Uma (you know, the FOUR-year-old) if she'd been watching the Olympics*? Did you hear the big buzzer just go off? I need to better prepare myself to respond to such idioteces. Sorry for the Spanish, but even if you don't speak it, you can probably infer the gist.

There's so much more I have to say, but I need to leave it at that. My asterisk use is about to go spiraling out of control if I don't just stop. Suffice it to say, I have a couple more opinions on our approach toward children here in this society.

Goodnight.

*A whole other topic altogether...

Well, after reading my first, and last post, I understand why I never continued. I guess my true blogging spirit had yet to be developed, and in a desperate attempt to introduce my two lovely children to those loved ones across state lines and beyond, I recounted the most uninspired tidbits... all at once.

I hope no one ever read that. Except I noticed there were 14 stops to this site in the three years of its existence, so I guess someone did. I guess it could be worse.

I've decided to make another attempt at this blogging business because Uma's turned four, and is suddenly no longer a baby (how can this possibly be?) in any recognizable way, except perhaps for the occasional complete freak-out over something teeny-tiny (small to the eyes of the observer, that is, NOT Uma).

Where has the time gone? How can I possibly have let the details of them slip away for all these years? Xochi is five! She's five. She's five...

It's this time of complete ambivalence. They are easier to be around than ever. They like to do the things I like to do. They [sometimes] help with chores or clean up after themselves. They are ever more capable and require less of me. Those really hard moments, like trying to get everyone bundled up in under an hour just to step outside for mere minutes or trying to calm a screaming toddler in front of a group of gawkers are less and less frequent all the time... and yet, I lament that they are no longer babies. I'd give anything now to be able to stuff somebody in a wrap and wear them around the house all day. I don't know exactly what makes it so scary, or sad, or quite honestly UNBEARABLE to see them grow, but I am thankful for this misery nevertheless. It is like a slap in the face--a big old "Pay attention, before it's all gone!"

And still, I remember that this is what it is all about-- it's about the individuals they will become, and the choices they will make. It's about who they really are.