Lucy turns 3!

Lucy is three! As she'll tell you proudly, holding three fingers to the air! And now she is a BIG GIRL. So big that we packed up her oh-so beloved babas this past weekend, put them in a box, and sent them off to the North Pole with a letter that says, "Dear Santa, I am 3! I do not need my babas anymore. Please give them to babies. Love, Lucy."

And then, on Sunday, our doorbell rang and Santa had dropped off a thank-you card for Lucy! How nice. The babies are just delighted to have new bottles. And Lucylu is...well, not exactly HAPPY that her generosity has been received, but maybe sorta pleased to be on Santa's good side.

So, that's funny -- and I think David and I get points for creative parenting. (Bonus: I could honestly tell her dentist today that she does not drink from a bottle anymore.) But frankly, it wasn't a total success. While the Dr. Brown's are stashed away, Lucy still managed to find a bottle nipple, which she now sticks over her finger, and sucks mostly contentedly around the house all day, all night. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!


I guess that's just fine. Marguerite Kelly, who writes that parenting column in the WaPo, says that if you're going to take away a very special thing to a child -- like a bottle -- you have to be prepared to offer something just as good. I have, of course, offered Lucy my undying love and affection, and also my warm hand as she nods off at night. Like Madeline at the zoo, she simply says, "Pooh-pooh."

(The parenting experts also say that if a child doesn't want to eat dinner, simply remove it and wait until she's hungry. And that's why Lucylu and I were picnicking in her bed last night -- "I'm hungry," she cried, shortly after storytime. Two slices of salami, two Triscuits with squirt cheese (which certainly deserves its own blog post), a hunk of Colby Jack, and a handful of dried cranberries later...)

Anyway, Lucy is 3!

The Highs of Being 3: We had a big ol' party on Saturday with mobs of screaming little people and two fascinated babies. We played at Lucy's Park -- but not for TOO long because Lucy does not LIKE the cold. We rolled pinecones in glitter. Ate pink polka-dot cupcakes in ice cream cones. Only one child peed in her pants -- but hey, it's not a party until somebody pees on themselves! And our guests actually cried when it was time to leave. Real tears!! (That never happens at book club.)


Plus, she got loads of fabulous presents (one of them has already stained our carpet) and I promise that this year we really will send thank-you notes! My mother sent her a box, which she shook very vigorously and said, "I hope it's a doggie!" Alas, it was not. Her favorite present? Another grandmother gift, of course. A yellow school bus!


The Lows of Being 3: I mentioned the dentist, yes?

I took her there this morning. She screamed. To her, the hygienist said: "Don't kick, Mommy!" To me: "Oh, this is completely normal. Ooph. Really." And still, Dr. Ed found...FIVE CAVITIES. Good God. He wants to fill them because, he says, they'll just get worse and she still needs these teeth for two or three more years. But he can't do so many in his office, so he wants us to meet him at Arlington Hospital, where he'll put her under general anesthesia and work away for an hour or two. Aaaggh!

I'm taking her to my dentist tomorrow for a second opinion. It might be true. Dr. Ed might be right. But I know that I once went to a dentist who told me I had four cavities, and then I went to a second dentist who said I have none -- and that was like 8 years ago and I still haven't found those four cavities. Plus, I just don't like this. I plain don't. It makes me feel like crying because I'm pretty sure that, if true, it's not Lucy's fault. It's her recalcitrant parents who have allowed her to swill milk at all hours of the night and brush her own teeth.

P.S. Oh, and the babas? The dental hygienist suggested that we didn't really need to take them away, after all. She said: "We can repair the damage to her teeth. The emotional damage is a lot harder to fix..."