When she exasperates him, Reed calls her “Baby.” As in, “No! Baby! Don’t do that! You’re ruining it!” But she isn’t really a baby, anymore, least of all in her own mind.
She is probably the most independent of all my children and resents that independence being breached. When she won’t leave Reed’s classroom of her own accord, I pick her up and remove her, and she screams. A good, loud scream. When I put her a cart or stroller against her will rather than letting her walk along in her own way, she struggles and cries. It’s a daily friction, and not one I particularly like.
When it comes down to it, though I do respect her for it. And I am learning to make room for her strong little will. I am learning to leave early and let her walk around, sometimes in the wrong direction. I am learning to let her be a part of things. It’s as good for me as it is for her.
I think Margot is happiest when she is with people she knows and loves making them laugh. She likes Duplo and Kapla blocks and building and planning and interfering with her brother’s things. She likes milk and bread and tomatoes. She likes music. She likes movement and being a part of things, and she likes to talk insofar as she can.
That’s Margot, now. That’s some of her.