I feel like my 3 year-old Dylan suddenly grew up – all in one week. Preschool is now no problem. I stay a few minutes, she kisses me goodbye and then that’s it. No tears. Nothing. She even has a boyfriend. I picked her up yesterday and learned all about Andre (the name sounds so debonair). Not from her, of course. She was very discreet and never said a word. But her teachers were all a flutter at how Dylan and Andre were hugging all morning. At one point, as they embraced each other tightly, Andre apparently pulled back ever so slightly and asked, “what is your name, again?” Just like a guy.
This week, I took Dylan to the Empire State Building (inspirational idea from my city friend Laura). We left Summer at home with a sitter. No stroller. No diaper bag. No sippy cups. Just my purse, with a few snacks. I practically felt like I was day tripping with one of my girlfriends. Unfortunately (or fortunately), visibility from the 86th floor observation deck was practically zero. That meant no lines, no waits and well, no view. But we could see the miniature taxi cabs moving up and down the avenues and lots of foggy buildings and that was fine with us. Dylan’s favorite part? The pink tile in the landmark’s ladies’ bathroom.
And then last night, we converted Dylan’s crib into a toddler bed. As an incentive to get her to sleep in the big girl bed, I promised her baked ruffles as part of her breakfast in the morning (please no judgments). After much trepidation (the hall light on, the bedroom door open, sitting with her for quite a while), she went to sleep. But I didn’t feel joyful. I missed her crib. Or rather, I missed her in the crib. She always liked to sleep horizontally, across the short length of the mattress, with her feet sticking out through the crib slots. She could sleep like that all night. Now I miss those toddler legs dangling out like the wicked witch of the east (minus the house on top of her). Damn, I wish I had taken a picture.