We think maybe we got a boy instead.  She fills her pockets with everything.  She finds all the puddles–water and mud.  She runs pell-mell down the walkways until she lands face first.  She loves to soar and fly in Dan’s arms.  She wants to climb and scale and jump.  But the apple has no stem.  Will everyone who told us having a girl was easier than a boy please stand up?

She’s learned by now when we say “trash,” she’s supposed to take her picked-up item and throw it in the nearest trash can.  She’s very good at it.  That way we don’t have to take it from her, and she’s happy to help.  The same with the dinner dishes.  I give them to her, one by one, and she takes them to Dan who’s standing in the kitchen receiving them.  Well, it comes as no surprise that she’s shattered one dish and one cup since we’ve been here (5 days), which we’ll have to reimburse the landlord for, but she’s getting the hang of it, and she’s tickled to be helping.  She fairly dances going back and forth between Dan and me.

She’s learned “uh-oh” and “apple” and “banana” and “Papa” and “Mama” and “gone-gone.”  She calls out “moo” when she sees the cow on the milk bottle label.  She says “kaw-kaw-kaw” for some reason when she see a pigeon, which there are an abundance of around here.  Her favorites are the “arf arfs” and the “meows.”

She made up a singing game where we’re supposed to stand on a leaf and make up a song.

To my chagrin, she’s good at knowing when she needs to go to the bathroom, but since I don’t have a firm daily schedule going yet, or a low toilet, I can’t reinforce it.  Thus, I’ve had to take a step backwards by putting her in diapers.  And another thing: have you seen toilets like this?

How on earth could you teach a child to perform any sort of function on this?  I can barely hover.  To top it all off, you have to carry your own toilet paper around, because there’s none in the stall.  Oh, and no soap, water, and paper towels to wash your hands afterwards.  People carry around hand sanitizing wipes for that.

Tonight Liliana has a melt-down shorter than the previous ones, but still at bedtime, she wants Mama and not Papa.  I’m not one for forcing my child to believe anything or to love someone or something she doesn’t want to love, but with Dan, who represents all the tickling and the soaring and all the fun and games, I feel differently.  Loving Dan is not negotiable right now.   “Nyet,” I say in Russian.  I talk to her in gentle tones and tell her everything she cannot possibly understand, like how her papa loves her with all his heart, how he has gone through misery just to get her, how he’s persevered through all her rejections, and how his love bank is pretty low right now.  Could she please step up to the plate and return a little affection now and then?

She understands a little, I think.  The part about Mama being sad.  I use the Russian word for “nice” and stroke Dan’s arm.  I say in Russian, “Be nice to Papa.”  She keeps looking at Dan the whole time, but still, she doesn’t want to go to him.

If only…

But as Dan likes to say, “If could haves and should haves were candies and nuts, what a very Merry Christmas this would be.”  Ach.  I wish I could make this one thing better for Dan.