Dr. Bean, MD

Bean loves going to the doctor, and she constantly talks about her pediatrician. This comes in handy, kind of like Santa Claus, when we try to convince her to eat her vegetables or brush her teeth. "Dr. B. said big girls need to eat their peas..." Works like a charm. Sometimes.

Anyway, she recently started pretending to be Dr. B. I have a blood blister on my pinky that just won't go away. She has to be sure to "kiss my boo boo to make it feel better" at least twice a day, and yesterday she decided she would fix it once and for all - with her toy Craftsman drill. She also had to use the drill to take my "temp-asure" in my armpit, which of course required a lot of shirt-wrangling and contortion on my part. "You no have a fever, Mum. You don't need medicine." [Surely she was thinking, "More medicine for me!" - will post on that subject shortly.] Finally, the drill doubled as a "telescope" to listen to my heartbeat.

The healing-by-drill was a fun game, but I had to put the brakes on when she said, "You have a tummy ache, Mum. I make you feel better," as she lifted up my shirt and stabbed me in the stomach with a pencil. I did NOT see that one coming. I suggested that she focus her healing attention on her teddy bear. I'm sorry to say that if Boo Boo Bear didn't have a tummy ache before, he surely has one now.

My favorite Dr. Bean moment was when I was feeling blue a few days ago. She said, in her most tender voice, with a little hand on my cheek, "You are sad Mum? You want me to get you a band-aid?"

Purple poo

I recently got some new, blueberry-scented shampoo for Bean. The bottle is purple with the picture of a hippo on it, and she's developed a mild obsession with it, crying out several times a day:

Poooo! Purple poo! Pooo! Poooo! Purple poo! Purple poo poo! More poo!

The Half Monty

Bean's favorite new trick is taking her pants off. Well, I suppose I shouldn't say off. She pulls them down around her ankles but can't get them over her slippers - so she just walks around with them like that, with this huge "Oh-my-gosh-I-can't-believe-how-clever-I-am!" grin on her face.

Apparently, she learned this at school from the-boy-who-always-takes-his-pants-off. When I dress her in jeans, she's fine, but those comfy elastic-waisted numbers just aren't cutting it these days.

Luckily, it's winter so she has a onesie on for extra insulation - otherwise I'm sure her diaper would be off too.

Symphony of toddlerese

Alternate title: What did parents do before baby monitors?

I love my baby monitor. It gives me freedom to move around the house, watch TV - even sit out on the deck - and know that if Bean wakes up, I will be able to hear her.

Most of the time it's just her cute little snore broadcasting over the air waves. Of course there's the occasional late-night cry, but thankfully those are few and far between these days. When she wakes up in the morning, Hubby and I sit down with our coffees and laugh as she performs her A.M. monologue. It usually goes something like this:


Mum-ma! Mum-ma! And when that doesn't bring anyone to the door: Dah-dee! Dah-dee! Didda-didda-dididididida! Mum-ma!

Next she likes to throw her pacifier, which for some reason she has named "Mimi," out of her crib and thus out of her reach.


Uh-oooooh! Mimi! Mimi! Mimimimimmiiiiiii! Mum-ma-mum-ma-mum-ma-Dah-deeeeee! Uh-oh! Uuuuh-ooooooh?

She's not distressed - just chatting along to herself, cracking up laughing every now and then. I know I should go to her, but I'd rather sit and listen!