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Location: Viljandi, Estonia

Sunday, July 23, 2006


So my daughter is two and a half years old. She has done most of the amazing things I originally had hoped she'd eventually be capable of doing. She can communicate - in two languages, she has long hair - it all grew in. She can walk, run, even peddle a small bicycle. And she doesn't even need breast milk to do these things! In short - she's a small wonder.

Recently, she's been capping off her string of achievements by learning to potty herself. And for Marta, by herself means ALL by herself. She will take off her own diaper and climb atop the potty - without that childish training potty seat, thank you very much - and pee. That's good. I am very proud of her.

The only trouble is when she finished and I approach said potty for use. Then she stands between me and my destination like she was guarding the sole toilet in the house. "No, issi papa! My toilet," she barks at me. I'll attempt another mounting of the toilet, only to be held back by her persistence. "Mine. My toilet. Mine."

That's an extreme example of the terrible twos quandry I've found myself in recently. There is also possessiveness going on about my wife. Often Marta and I find ourselves competing for her attention. We've even gagged on fighting over Epp. It's funny.

Despite Marta's possessiveness and "me me me" I think we've been getting on swell these days. Just yesterday I took her for a really pleasant walk, without the stroller, and we happened upon a basketball game. We went in and watched it together, like she wasn't two - maybe like she was much older. She seemed fascinated by the game. Maybe when she gets older I'll get her tickets to go see the professionals play. Or maybe the New York Liberty. I bet she'd like that.


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