We’ve had a lot of changes in toddlerland lately.  It’s full-tilt potty training madness.  She’s doing pretty well.  If we’re consistent, she’s consistent with Number One.  Number Two, eh.  It’s taken a back seat.

In other news, the same child who has taken a pacifier all her life outside the womb and affectionately calls it her “num-num” has been paci-less for about four days.  I couldn’t find it the other night.  We went out to the car to look for it.  We searched the playroom and her room.  No luck.  I looked at my sleepy tot  in her pajamas, sighed and said, “Charlotte, your num-num went bye-bye.”  She pondered this a moment and replied, “My num-num went bye-bye.”  That was it.  She spotted a rogue binky under the furniture today, but forgot about it when suddenly Thomas the Tank Engine did something on television that was worthy of her attention.  Thank you preschool programming!

I think this is the last paci pic I snapped.

As if these weren’t enough big girl achievements, she’s out of baby jail!  That’s right!  Our girl is sleeping in a toddler bed now.  When we finally decided on this furniture we got her crib as a conversion bed.  We wrongly assumed this included safety rails.  Whoops.  We figured she only has about eight inches to fall and has not fallen out of bed yet.  Parents of the year.

Baby monitor shot.

The funny thing about all these changes is I constantly oscillate between feelings of overwhelming pride and weepy nostalgia.  

There are many moments in the day when  I’m so proud of my big girl!  I love seeing all her 2-year-old accomplishments.  This may be the mama bear talking, but Charlotte is a smart one.  She’s getting so independent.  She is brave and fun.  Everyday she says a new sentence, sings a new song, or tries something on her own.  It’s amazing!

There are other moments when I want to run after her screaming, “No!  Wait!  You’re still a baby!  Stop growing  up so fast!”  After praising her for successfully using the potty, I suddenly want to change her diaper and give her a pacifier.  Instead of tucking her in her big kid bed I want to swaddle her up and rock her to sleep.

The only thing I can do is think of all the exciting things to come in her childhood and take in every moment of this transition.  If there is anything I’ve learned since becoming a parent, it’s that it’s all fleeting.

As a teenager I would stand at my bedroom mirror with a copy of Seventeen magazine propped up so I could see step-by-step how to style my hair with one of their umpteen “Get Gorgeous” or “Hot Hair” tutorials. I’m not sure why I remember one issue in particular.  Maybe it’s because  I spent a great deal of time modeling my ‘do after a model’s in that issue.  Alicia Silverstone was on the cover.

Ah!  There it is.  Thanks Google.

July, 1995.  That would have been a month before my 14th birthday and two months before I started high school.  I bet I had watched reruns of MTV Spring Break that day.  I wonder if I logged on to my America Online account that morning before ballet class?  Probably.  I no doubt took magazine quizzes to find out my dating style, even though I had never been on an actual date.  Basically, I was at the height of my adolescent insecurity and unknowingly headed straight for full-on teen angst and a diagnosed eating disorder in another year-and-a-half.

I think I remember trying for something new that summer.  I was headed for a new school, high school, so obviously a new hairstyle was in order.  No matter how many times I pulled my turquoise and magenta paddle brush through my hair, I couldn’t get it just right.  I would frown and say something to my reflection like, “Ugh!  I hate my hair!”  I slammed the magazine shut and stared at Alicia Silverstone in all her mid-nineties coolness.

Whenever the issue of beauty magazines and women’s body image comes up, I think of that issue of Seventeen.

Fast-forward 17 years to the other night.  I went through the Health and Fitness part of Pinterest to get some inspiration for working out and shedding a few holiday pounds.  Later, I stood at the bathroom mirror with my iPad propped against the mirror, trying to do my hair like a woman in a Pinterest hair tutorial.  I stared at my 31-year-old reflection, getting further frustrated that I suck at elegant loose fishtail braids.  Instantly Alicia Silverstone popped in my mind.  I looked at myself and shook my head loose of my attempted braid.

I thought of my two-year-old daughter and my pledge to not obsess over weight and appearance.  Yeah, I weigh more now than I ever have now that I have a desk job, but I’m healthy.  My husband and I  decided awhile ago not to describe people as “fat”, “skinny”, “chunky”, or “chubby” around our daughter there’s really no reason for it.

Just then she came in.  She was giggling and proudly showing me her full belly after dinner.  I closed my Pinterest app and scooped her up.  I said to her.  “Charlotte, you are so beautiful!  You have a beautiful, strong, healthy body.  Do you love your body?”  She smiled and said, “Ya! Lob my bodee!”  I smiled and instantly dismissed all the negative things I think about my appearance.  Whether it was 1995 Seventeen magazine or 2013 Pinterest, it seemed silly and I scaled back my weight loss resolutions.  I said “Mama loves her body too!”

Since I’ve been getting all Auld Lang Syney around here, I’ll update you on another little goal for 2013.

We’re ditching the diapers this year.  Yep, Santa Claus brought Charlotte some big girl panties.  I figured finding them in her stocking would bring some enthusiasm.  She’s been doing okay, but we’ haven’t been hard-core potty training yet.  She freakin’ loves her Pull-Ups.  I’m now convinced Pull-Ups are just more expensive, glorified diapers.   I think they had to be invented by the same marketing a-hole that started putting kid cereals on the lower shelves of the supermarket, right at preschoolers’ eye level to torture parents into buying high-fructose corn syrup nuggets disguised as breakfast.

Anyway, we started with panties after I washed them at Christmas.  The panties enthusiasm was so strong it backfired on me.  She wanted to change to a different design EVERY time, even if she kept them clean and dry.  It became a holiday panties fashion show.  In her mind, why keep them clean if you have to wear the same ones?  Why not wear Elmo panties now, pee in them, then wear princess panties later?

Panties for EVERYONE!  See…

These are clean. No, the dog is not wearing any.

Today marked the day we would start potty training for real at school.  Her teachers have potty trained hundreds of kids and know what they’re doing.  They put the kid in underwear and take them to the potty every 15-30 minutes on the dot.  Pull-Ups go back on for nap time.  I brought her in a Pull-Up to the class.  Charlotte proudly took her panties into the classroom and showed them to her friends.  This is a big deal in the Twos Class, lemme tell ya.  The kids oohed and aahed over her stack of 2T drawers.  Charlotte beamed as she rushed straight to the potty with her teacher, tugging her pants to replace the Pull-Up with her beloved panties.  I figure this is the only time it’s appropriate to show off her underwear for the whole class.

Only 2 accidents.  Not too shabby for the first day.  I’m really starting to appreciate my own underwear, and potty-training teachers.