I think I've said before that Julia, in her older-babyhood, is a remarkably amiable little citizen; she hasn't (yet?) really gotten into the tantrum thing, other than a few relatively mild meltdowns when she has gotten overtired or overhungry. An impressive amount of the time, she follows rules, listens to directions, and is generally helpful and cooperative in a very sweet way. Her one arena of rebellion thus far has been clothing; for several weeks now she has greeted pretty much all morning outfit suggestions with, "Don't yike dat one. Put it away."
Not too long ago, however, she somehow picked up the phrase, "Not today." Cute, right? Asking Jujee, "Do you want to build a tower, honey?" or "Would you like some peas for snack?" and hearing the polite, amusingly adult refusal, "Not today" in reply? Yeah, it was cute. At first. The first fifty times or so. Before it became the mantra of choice in response to EVERY SINGLE QUESTION OR REQUEST ASKED OF HER ALL DAY LONG, EVERY DAY. Not to mention the response to such non-questions as, "Honey, it's time to change your diaper," ("Not today!") or "Bathtime, honey pie." ("Not today!") Now it's driving me just a little bit crazy. On the other hand, it's certainly one of those toddlerisms
that effectively gets her point across, isn't it?
Wish I could use it all day long like she does. The fifth load of laundry this week? Not today. Guarding my still-uncoordinated baby all over the playground jungle gym under the blazing sun while my 8-months-pregnant pelvic ligaments protest every twist and turn? Not today. Remaining patient when, instead of an afternoon nap, my toddler chants, "Mama coming, Mama coming, wake-up time, wake-up time" for an hour straight in her room? Um, not today, thanks.
Oh hey, but speaking of baby-speak, Julia has suddenly dropped her "Baby Julia" self-appellation! Just this week we noticed she has been calling herself just Julia (or, more accurately, something along the lines of, "Joo-ya!"), instead of her longstanding "Baby Julia" chosen nickname (which she inexplicably used constantly, for many months after we had stopped referring to her even in passing as such). Not surprisingly, it feels a little bit sad.
But--good news: she still says "dip-dip" and "mee-mu."